


Never forget

by CrimeLady



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fake Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Love, Molly Hooper - Freeform, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Romance, Sherlock Has Secrets, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeLady/pseuds/CrimeLady
Summary: What if Sherlock had not been able to ask Molly for her help then? What if Molly also believed that Sherlock was dead?  >>Sherolly<< (after Reichenbach)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you ;)
> 
> so, here I am with my next story :)  
> After I'm unfortunately forced to stay in bed and watch one of my favorite series again, I came to an idea.  
> I was watching one of my favorite episodes and at some point I asked myself what would have happened if Sherlock hadn't asked Molly for her help?  
> And then I got the idea to rewrite the whole thing :D
> 
> I don't have an idea yet where it will go but I can tell you one thing, it will be a Sherolly story again ;)
> 
> And now I wish you a lot of fun reading and of course I would be happy if you would tell me what you think about it ;)

Molly was just sitting comfortably with a cup of coffee at her friends' breakfast table.  
After all this drama with Jim, or rather Moriarty, that shameful Christmas party at Baker Street, and Sherlock in general, she just wanted to get away. Get out of London.

She had often thought about just taking a vacation, but could never really bring herself to do it. Most of the time it was because of a certain detective who demanded her help. But this time it was different. After Sherlock once again rebuffed her and wasn't willing to open up to her, at least a little, she knew she had to get out of there. It wasn't that she was surprised that he reacted that way. After all, this is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. But the thought of him still not trusting her after all these years depressed her.  
So, without further ado, she packed her things and headed off to York for a surprise visit to her friend Rebecca from college days. It wasn't so much a surprise visit as an escape. Escape from this emotional pain that was gradually constricting her chest and causing her heart to shatter into tiny little pieces.

Rebecca was her roommate back in medical school and quickly became one of her best friends. Molly didn't really care much for friendships back then. She had been betrayed and hurt too many times in her past. She found it hard to trust but Rebecca, yes Rebecca was different. One could almost say that they shared the same suffering. After some initial skepticism on both sides, they slowly developed a friendship that lasted until today and became stronger than ever. Molly stood by her when she lost her brother in a tragic accident and Rebecca was by her side when her father died. And even though their paths then went in different directions after graduation, they still stood by each other and kept in regular contact. So Rebecca also knew about the certain detective and also about Molly's feelings towards him.  
She spent many nights on the phone with him crying about his past humiliations towards her.

Her friend kept offering to come over and spend a few days away from London with her and her boyfriend Oliver, but Molly kept refusing. The reason she gave was that it wouldn't be feasible due to her current work situation. Too much downtime. But her heart had another reason. Molly didn't want to let Sherlock down.

But after that one day at the lab, she was beginning to doubt whether she could take it any longer. She remembered that Sherlock was once again analyzing some samples and that it had something to do with her ex-boyfriend Jim. She shuddered at the thought. She still couldn't believe that she had gotten involved with a psychopath who would later turn out to be the criminal mastermind of all. Then she remembered Sherlock's sad look and how she approached him about it. He seemed surprised but still couldn't trust himself to open up. She didn't know why, but the look in his eyes and his subsequent expressions hurt her. She realized she had crossed a line and was uncomfortable continuing to be in the same room with him. She had known Sherlock for several years now but never had she seen such an expression in his eyes. That look of concern, guilt and despair. She knew those feelings were for a certain person and she felt a tinge of jealousy that it wasn't her. It was John. The helpful, kind, empathetic John who seemed to be slowly breaking through to the Sherlock Holmes machine. As many times as she tried over the years, she couldn't. And that, in the end, only hurt her more. Sherlock just didn't trust her.

Molly heaved a deep sigh and had to slowly blink away the tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes with all her might after she remembered.

"Good morning sweetie. How did you sleep?" asked Rebecca as she entered the room.

Molly startled out of her thoughts before turning to her friend and looking at her with a soft smile.

"Quite well, thank you. Only it was quite a short night" she moaned lightly now, rubbing her head.

"Headache?" Rebecca then asked with a mischievous grin as she glanced at Molly.

Molly didn't reply anything but just nodded slightly.

"Who was that guy yesterday who kept trying to call you?" she then asked as she grabbed a cup from the top shelf and poured herself some coffee as well.  
And then Molly remembered that her phone had rung off and on yesterday. She had just decided not to answer it. After all, she was at her best friend's engagement party and didn't want to have to fret over anything.  
Carefully rising from her chair, she walked over to her bag and dug out her phone. When she unlocked it she couldn't believe what she saw. On it were several missed calls from John and Greg, as well as more messages from John and Greg.  
She hadn't told anyone about her short vacation. They probably wanted something from her about work, she thought to herself.

Rebecca, who by now had made herself comfortable on the couch in the living room with her mug, turned on the TV while Molly slowly opened her messages. The first message was a voicemail.

**Thursday,6:26PM**  
_**Hi Molly. This is John. Please call me back as soon as possible. I really need to talk to you.** _

Then follow up with four more messages from him.

**Thursday, 7:34PM**  
**Hello Molly. Where are you? I need to speak to you urgently. John**

**Thursday, 7:53PM**  
**Molly? Where are you? It's really urgent!**

**Thursday, 9:38PM**  
**Are you all right? Please call me. I need to talk to you. It's about Sherlock!**

**Thursday, 11:05PM**  
**MOLLY?! Where the hell are you? I'm worried.**

And last but not least, there was a voicemail from Greg on her phone. She was starting to worry about what had happened and especially what was going on with Sherlock. With slightly shaky fingers she pressed the button and listened to the message.

**Friday, 07:34**  
_**Hello Molly. This is Greg. John is with me and is worried. We can't reach you or find you. We really need to talk to you. So call back as soon as you hear this.** _

'What is all this about? And why is John so worried? And what about Sherlock?" Molly then wondered as she scrolled through her messages again and again.

"Hey Molly! What was your detective's name again?" a voice sounded from the living room. 

Molly continued to stare at her screen, gradually feeling a pang of anxiety. Over and over she read through the messages from John.

"Molly?" it shouted again. Now the voice sounded slightly worried.

Completely lost in thought, she shook her head slightly before turning to face the voice.

"Sorry. His name is Sherlock Holmes and Rebecca, he's not MY detective!" shouted back Molly, rolling her eyes. Then she too made her way to the living room to inquire why her friend wanted to know.

"Why do you ask --" she began, but stopped when she caught sight of the news on TV.

**"Probably the most famous detective in London, Sherlock Holmes is dead. He threw himself from the roof of London's St. Bart's Hospital yesterday morning...."** a newscaster just told on TV.

And on the lower screen, more news about yesterday's incident ran in continuous loop.  
**-Sherlock Holmes dead- Consulting detective commits suicide- Another body on Bart's roof identified as Jim Moriarty-**

"Oh my God," Rebecca said now in a horrified tone, holding a hand over her mouth. Then she looked over at her friend and realized that Molly wasn't moving.  
She was just standing there, completely rigid. Eyes fixed on the screen. All color drained from her face and silent tears escaped from the corners of her eyes.

"Molly? Molly? Are you okay?" Rebecca then asked, concerned.

Molly didn't answer. She didn't realize she had been spoken to. Everything seemed so incredibly far away. Her eyes only followed the messages on the lower screen.

**-Sherlock Holmes dead - consulting detective commits suicide -**

As she looked at them, it occurred to her.

That's probably what John was trying to tell me'.

She reached for her phone in her hand and dialed. It wasn't long before it picked up on the other end.

**"Molly, thank God! We thought --"**

_**"Is it true?"** _

-silence-

_**"John! Is it true?! Is Sherlock really..."**_ Molly's voice broke.

**"Yes."**

Then the line went dead as Molly's phone fell out of her hand and crashed to the floor.

Suddenly her body felt completely stiff, she couldn't move. In her chest she felt a twinge and how it gradually increased. Her throat was dry and so slowly she felt that a huge weight was taking away her breath. She felt that her face was wet. But she could not move. Even when her friend stepped in front of her and pulled her into her arms, she was unable to move. She just stood there staring at the now dark screen.

Rebecca then pulled her onto the couch with her and gently stroked her back.

"Molly?" she asked again.  
Slowly, her face streaked with tears, Molly turned her head to her friend and looked into her eyes.

"He's dead," she said. It was more of a whisper.

Rebecca continued to stroke her back in soothing circles, trying to comfort her. So slowly Molly realized what had happened and then with the last of her strength leaned against her friend and cried. She cried all the pain off her chest. The pain she felt over and over again all these years because of him, the pain of losing random touches or his smile and the pain of missed opportunities. She could never tell him how she really felt about him. That she was in love with him since the first day they met and that love never diminished. On the contrary, it only grew stronger.

But it was too late. Sherlock Holmes was dead.


	2. chapter 2

After Molly learned of Sherlock's death, a world fell apart for her. The first weeks were more than difficult for her. She knew that her friends, especially John, would suffer especially and she wanted to be there for him. To stand by him and support him. She put her grief completely in the background and only let it out when she was alone. Molly had always been a person who cared more about those around her than herself, and especially now at this time, she needed to be strong. To the outside world, anyway.

She found most of her distraction through work. At first it was hard to go back to the rooms where Sherlock had often stayed. Sometimes she thought she imagined, as she worked in the lab, that she could still detect his scent. That wonderful, breathtaking scent that could sometimes quite upset her when she walked close to him or stood next to him.

The worst day was the day of the funeral. Molly had offered John to go along with him and Mrs. Hudson. The funeral itself was held on a small scale. What surprised Molly was that Sherlock's parents were nowhere to be seen. Only Mycroft was present from Sherlock's family. And as always, he seemed rather reserved and distant. Not even a hint of sadness could she detect on his face. But Molly didn't want to focus on that but on herself and her friends.

The eulogy was held at Sherlock's grave and with every word that was spoken, Molly felt the sadness gradually trying to overtake her again. John, too, was visibly struggling to keep his composure. She felt him visibly tense up next to her and without thinking any further about it, she took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. He smiled just slightly at her and seemed grateful for it.

After the funeral service ended and a few more condolences were exchanged, everyone left the cemetery again. Mrs. Hudson commented that it would be nice to have a small ceremony in honor of Sherlock's memory at Baker Street.

Greg excused himself, as he had to get back to the Yard, and Molly wasn't sure she was up to it either. However, seeing John's sad and almost pleading look, she decided to accompany them.

Arriving at Baker Street, the elderly lady immediately went to the downstairs apartment, only to return a short time later with a bottle of bourbon. John and Molly then just looked at her questioningly.

The older lady just shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"If, then I would also like to toast Sherlock properly" she only said and then went up the stairs to the upper apartment.

John and Molly only gave each other a slight grin before following the older lady.

Once upstairs, Mrs. Hudson opened the door, stepped into the apartment and placed the alcohol on the table. Molly entered the apartment with a queasy feeling and immediately unnoticed the lingering scent of Sherlock. With slightly wobbly legs, she slowly moved toward the couch and joined Mrs. Hudson. After John added a couple of glasses, they toasted and exchanged a variety of stories about Sherlock. They were the funniest but also the strangest stories Molly had ever heard about him.

At some point it became late. Mrs. Hudson was the first to leave and said goodbye to the two.

Molly, too, was beginning to be ready to leave. She turned to John, who was now staring ahead on the couch, deep in thought.

"John? Are you okay?" she asked in a slightly concerned tone, gently touching his shoulder.

He wasn't looking at her. His head was down.

"I don't think I can do this, Molly," he spoke softly, then slowly turned his head in her direction.

Molly froze for a moment when she saw the look on her boyfriend's face. She had never seen so much sadness in his eyes. It broke her heart to see him like that.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't stay. Not here. Where everything reminds me of him."

He took a deep breath before continuing.

"Sherlock... I never told him but...He was my best friend. I don't know where I would be today if I hadn't met him. He gave my life meaning again. I just don't know what to do without" he was sobbing lightly now.

Molly's breath caught as she saw how vulnerable he suddenly was. If she didn't know John and his frequently changing relationships with women, she would think John was in love with Sherlock. But it was different. John missed his friend. The one who had given him a purpose to live again. The one he had the countless adventures with and the one who had completely changed his life. His best friend.

Molly slowly turned to John and then pulled him tightly into her arms. Gently, she stroked his back with circular motions until he gradually relaxed.

Slowly he broke away from her embrace and looked at her. John was now looking at her with so much awe in his eyes and before Molly knew it, his lips were suddenly on hers. It was only a few seconds before John realized what he was doing. Startled, he pulled away from her and looked down at the floor in embarrassment.

"Oh man Molly, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I shouldn't have done that" he then said, looking slightly embarrassed to the side.

Molly slightly shocked by what had just happened shifted slightly on the couch before looking back at John.

"Yes it's true, you shouldn't have done that but John, Sherlock was your best friend. You lost the person who meant the most to you. You feel hurt and sad. You just want to forget. But John not through this. If you need to cry, do it and don't try to suppress it with any other actions. I'm here for you" she then said, smiling slightly and gently touching his arm.

Regardless of the fact that Molly was just echoing her own feelings, she hoped that she could help him a little by doing so.

John sighed noticeably but gradually relaxed back beside her.

"How do you actually do it, Molly? How can you be so strong? How do you cope, especially since you're..."

He suddenly fell silent.

"Since I what?" asked Molly then, slightly confused.

John took a deep breath and sighed again.

"Since you were in love with Sherlock."

Now it was Molly's turn to tense up. Slightly nervous, she slid in the seat next to him. She didn't say a word. Molly was far too startled that John knew.

When John noticed that Molly didn't answer, he continued.

"Am I right? You were in love with him, weren't you?"

But he didn't wait for her to answer.

"I noticed it the first time we met. Your looks and how embarrassed and red you got when he walked into the room. But I didn't really realize it until the Christmas party."

Molly looked startled at him but John still had his eyes on the table in front of him.

"Knew Sherlock..." she began, but couldn't continue. Her voice was trembling.

"...It too?" he asked, looking up and glaring at her for the first time in a long time.

He shook his head.

"I don't think so. Maybe he noticed something during that Christmas party but come on, this is Sherlock we're talking about. Feelings have always been foreign to him. I don't think he had any knowledge of your feelings. And if he did --"

"...then he didn't care," Molly interrupted him.

John did not answer. Molly suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. A cold shiver ran through her at the thought that Sherlock knew about her feelings and that it left him completely cold, even if she would have expected nothing else from him. She felt tears gathering in her eyes again, her stomach tightening and bile rising inside her. With a quick movement, she got up from the couch.

"Sorry, I just have to..." she said, running as fast as she could to the bathroom.

With her head over the toilet, she let out all the pain she felt. After a short while, however, she didn't feel any better. Even though her stomach, filled only with her coffee from this morning and Mrs. Hudson's bourbon, was now empty, her heart was not. Carefully, she got up, walked to the sink to splash a little water on her face. Her reflection showed a young broken woman. Her eyes were full of pain and shining from tears. She shook her head slightly before heading back out of the room.

She stepped out, closed the door behind her and stopped. Her gaze fell to the right as she did so. Without thinking about it, she moved on slightly wobbly legs to the closed door. With her hand on the handle, she paused briefly, took one deep breath, and then pushed it down. It was unlocked, allowing Molly to enter.

Her eyes roamed the room. She stepped further inside and spun around. She had never been in Sherlock's bedroom before and she wanted to soak it all up. Her eyes settled on a picture of the periodic table behind the door. She had to grin briefly at the thought of it. After all, Sherlock was a graduate chemist. Then she moved slowly toward the bed. She slid her hand gently and carefully over the sheets.

"Is everything okay?"

She turned, slightly startled, and looked into the eyes of a worried John, who was leaning against the doorframe.

Molly couldn't find the right words. She swallowed hard before looking around the room again, taking in the scent of Sherlock, and then turning to John.

"I think I have to go now," she said quietly, then stormed past him at a quick pace.

"MOLLY!" shouted John after her.

But she didn't stop. She grabbed her bag, ran down the stairs, opened the door and stepped out into the now dark night. She did not turn around again. Her pain was too great. She left the familiar building and after a few moments she left Baker Street behind her.


	3. chapter 3

**2 years later**

Two years have passed. Two years after Sherlock threw himself to his death from the roof. Two years of pain, grief, anger, despair and guilt that followed Molly day in and day out. After that day of his funeral, she withdrew completely. She isolated herself from everyone she cared about and cared about. She holed up in her apartment, not wanting to see anything or anyone. John kept trying to contact her or visit her at home but Molly never responded. Her friend Rebecca showed understanding the whole time, tried to give her time and space. Now and then she inquired about her well-being but did not push her to do anything.

She left her four walls only for work and regular visits to Sherlock's grave.

In the beginning she visited it almost daily and cried all the pain from her soul. Over time, her tears subsided and the crushing feeling in her chest slowly diminished. Then she went only weekly, then only once a month, and eventually not at all.

After several months of wallowing in self-pity, she had had enough. She needed to get her life back on track and leave the detective behind. She got the opportunity to do so after she was invited to her friend's wedding. It had been 3 months since then and Molly took heart, all her courage and slowly picked herself up. The wedding went better than expected for her and slowly she was able to feel some joy again. You could say she was even having fun.

She was talking to people again and even met a nice young man. Her breath caught briefly when she saw him for the first time. He was tall, slim, wore a long coat and expensive shoes. A smile familiar to her appeared on his face. Her heart stopped when she thought that he reminded her a little of Sherlock. But unlike Sherlock, the young man was almost a little shy toward her. She was immediately attracted to him and was ready to break down her walls that she had built around herself over the months.

As it turned out later, the young man, whose name was Tom, was a good childhood friend of Oliver, Rebecca's husband, and also lived in London.

Time passed and Molly spent more and more time with Tom and his friends and family. She also gradually reestablished contact with John and her other friends. All of them were very understanding towards her but also pleased that Molly was gradually getting better. John also seemed to be getting better. He had also met a new partner, Mary, and seemed very happy. The kiss that Molly and John shared at the time never came up again after several apologies from John, and Molly was glad that it didn't hurt their friendship.

She was sure things could only get better and was ready to put the past time and pain behind her now. Her heart was also slowly healing and with the help of Tom and her friends, it was putting itself back together piece by piece.

***

It was a day like always in the pathology. Lots of autopsies, then the usual paperwork and lab work.

It was early afternoon when Molly entered the locker room. She was expecting a message from Tom, who wanted to meet her this evening. She moved slowly toward the room, her shoulders looking slightly tense from all the post-mortems and feeling a slight twinge of a headache.

She opened her locker, dug her phone out of her pocket and looked at the display. The message icon flashed and she recognized a message from John.

She wondered a little about it, but left it at that. Molly was about to open the message when her eyes fell on the mirror on the inside of her locker and she instantly froze.

She blinked once to make sure it wasn't just some figment of her imagination brought on by her headache. But still, there he stood.

Sherlock stood behind her and gave her a slight nod.

Slowly she turned around and now looked into two beautiful green eyes.

Her breath stopped for a moment. She felt all the pain and anger coming out again.

With slightly shaky legs, she moved towards the man and before she could think of anything to say to Sherlock, the flat of her hand landed full force on his cheek. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in slight confusion and then stroked his own hand over the spot Molly's hand had hit earlier.

Unaware that she was now ducking Sherlock, and driven by all the anger and pain he had caused her with his death, she now raised her voice.

"You bastard! You damn bastard! I thought you were dead! I thought...." she screamed through her tears, pounding his chest with her small fists.

Sherlock, still surprised by her reaction, raised his eyebrows and without thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around her body and held her tight.

Molly tensed a little.

"I've missed you too, Molly Hooper" Sherlock said and Molly could feel him smiling slightly.

Instantly she relaxed and then wrapped her arms around his muscular body as well. Her head rested on his chest as she did so. She heard the beating of his heart, which gradually calmed her.

They didn't know how long they stood there like that. It could have been seconds or even minutes. It felt like an eternity to both of them, and neither made any move to break away from the embrace.

Molly was the first to slowly raise her head to Sherlock's face. Only now did she realize how beat up he looked. His eyes looked tired and exhausted. There was a small laceration on his lips that was slowly beginning to heal.

Tears were running down her cheeks.

"Why...why didn't you say anything? I could have helped you!" she sobbed in a shaky voice, her head to the floor.

Something in her voice sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine. He then took a hand from her back and slowly brought it to her chin. With his fingers, he pushed her head up slightly so Molly could look him in the eye. He froze instantly as their eyes met.

Sherlock saw the sadness and pain his "death" had caused in her eyes. Something in his chest tightened and he visibly stiffened. He had never intended to hurt her like this. And yet he did. He felt guilty and couldn't see Molly suffering like this.

He placed both hands on her cheeks and with his thumbs, wiped aside the tears that fell from her eyes.

He smiled warmly at her and Molly's heart instantly leapt. It was the smile that always made Molly forget everything around her. The smile that was completely devoid of any intention of asking her for a favor. The smile that was so warm and so human. She felt warmth rising in her body. His hands on her cheeks were warm and soft. Her skin tingled under his touch. She felt a slight warmth on her cheeks and Sherlock noticed it too.

He was still smiling at her.

Then slowly he tilted his head down, his thumbs still gently circling her cheeks.

Molly's heart seemed to suddenly stop. She felt a lump in her throat, her breath catching. Sherlock's face came closer and closer to hers and his lips found their way to her face.

He brought his lips to her forehead and kissed her gently. Then he smiled at her again and finally dropped his hands from her face to his sides. He left the locker room, leaving behind a completely shocked and breathless Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, who among you thought Sherlock would kiss her? :D  
> Even though I might have disappointed some of you now, don't worry, there will definitely be more 😊
> 
> And sorry to those who believed or hoped that now John and Molly would become a couple. I just wanted to put a few excerpts and mainly of Molly's feeling and her emotional world in the 2 years 😉


	4. chapter 4

Molly still couldn't really believe that Sherlock was back. Wasn't dead.

She kept thinking about that moment in the locker room. Her thoughts kept circling back to that one moment when she was in Sherlock's arms and completely melted away. His eyes, which seemed exhausted but were also so full of melancholy and guilt, and that characteristic smile, so warm and that she had missed so much. The places where Sherlock touched her still burned and sent a pleasant feeling through her body when she thought back to it. She didn't know it but something was different. She sensed that there was something between him at that moment, but couldn't explain what it was. Something had changed.

Her eyes now turned to the man next to her in bed, sleeping peacefully. Tom, her boyfriend, her fiancé and soon to be husband. Guilt spread through her as she thought of a man other than her fiancé, feeling those feelings. Those feelings she felt even then when she was around Sherlock, and they were getting stronger and stronger.

With a light sigh, she looked at the clock on her nightstand and then swung her legs out of bed. It was still just under an hour before she had to get up and get ready for work. Actually, today had been her day off, but after she had received a call last night that an autopsy was pending, which had to be processed urgently, she was forced to sacrifice her free morning. In return, she could lie in her comfortable bed again at noon.

With heavy steps she trotted out of the bedroom into the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine. Then she looked at her phone and saw a blinking message. Still slightly tired, she opened it and was instantly wide awake.

**Come to Baker Street at 1 p.m. today. SH**

And then another one.

**Please.**

Sherlock had written to her and he wanted her to visit him. And not only that. He had asked Molly to do it. It was strange. After all, she hadn't heard from him since that day in the locker room a week ago. John had also written to her saying that he had spoken to Sherlock and the conversation had not gone well. He also said that he needed time to get used to Sherlock being back now.

`What will he want?" she then wondered, but again felt that tingling sensation throughout her body. Excitement was spreading.

She quickly typed a message confirming that she would be there at 1 p.m. and then went almost frantically to the bathroom to get ready for work.

She somehow couldn't wait to finish her work for the day and then get to Sherlock.

The morning went by quite quickly. Fortunately, it was a very extensive autopsy that took up her complete time, leaving no time for digressive thoughts or her excitement. Before she knew it, it was already 12 o'clock and Molly was just finishing the usual final paperwork. Since time was pretty short to go home again, she decided to shower and get ready right there.

She then arrived at Baker Street by cab promptly at 1 p.m. and her excitement rose again.

Slightly nervous, she stepped towards the door. She was about to ring the bell when a note caught her eye.

**_The door is open. Just come up._ **

So Molly opened the door and paused briefly at the sight of the steps. She hadn't been back here since that day. Nothing had changed. Her eyes briefly fell on the door at the back of the house before she took a deep breath and then finally slowly climbed the steps to the upstairs apartment.

At the top, she noticed that the door to Sherlock's apartment was open and that he himself was standing at the window with his back to her, looking out.

She held her breath for a moment at the sight that met her eyes.

Sherlock, in his perfectly fitting suit, with his dark curls that made him seem even more irresistible, if that was even possible, and that Molly had always dreamed of burying her hands in, and that perfect ass. She caught herself as her eyes kept roaming over his body, literally undressing him. Instantly, heat rose to her face.

She shook her head briefly, taking another deep breath before stepping inside.

"You...you wanted to see me?" she then asked, slightly nervous.

Sherlock turned, hands clasped behind his back, and smiled slightly at her. He seemed equally nervous.

"Yes, Molly. I...I was wondering..." at that, he took another step forward.

After stopping for a moment and seeming to consider what to say, Molly spoke up. But at the same moment Sherlock spoke again.

"...if I would like to have dinner with you?"

"...if you want to solve crimes with me?"

After hearing what Molly said, he paused for a moment and looked at her with a slightly surprised and scrutinizing look. A slight smirk was on his lips. Molly, feeling his eyes on her, suddenly became uncomfortable and she blushed again. In her mind, she slapped her hand in front of her head and slapped herself for her naivety.

But except for that smirk and that look, Sherlock didn't seem to mind.

He gestured for her to take a seat on the couch while he took a seat in his chair across from her. Then he explained to her that John was not really interested in solving crimes with him at the moment and he would be happy if Molly could support him for that.

Molly listened intently the whole time, but felt a small twinge after she learned that she was only supposed to be a substitute for John. Lost in thought, she turned her engagement ring back and forth on her finger under the table, wondering what to do.

After Sherlock finished his explanations, he looked at her. His look was sincere and slightly nervous about her answer. Molly couldn't help but melt under his gaze and before she knew it, she was nodding.

Sherlock lightly blew out air of relief and then nodded to her as well with a small smile on his lips.

Molly couldn't help but wonder if and why he was so nervous.

Was he afraid to ask her, or afraid of what her reaction would be? Or had he also sensed this moment between them and now didn't know what to do?

But before she could wonder further, the doorbell rang. Sherlock looked at her, slightly concerned, before rising and heading downstairs to the door. Molly still felt slightly uncomfortable, but wanted to stand by Sherlock. And maybe by doing so, she would be able to find out what exactly was there between them. He seemed different since his return. And Molly was eager to get to the bottom of what might have caused his change.

With one last look at her engagement ring, she then straightened up and joined Sherlock and the couple who had entered.

All the while, Sherlock behaved as he always had. Rational, detached and focused only on the case. He solved one case after another and Molly gradually gave up hoping that he had changed after all. Especially since Sherlock kept confusing her with John.

It was already early evening when they finally arrived at the apartment of a client who said he had something special for Sherlock to look into.

As it turned out, this client was a total fan of trains. Model trains were displayed all over his apartment. On the walls as well, pictures of various trains. If Molly didn't have such a pure heart, she would certainly call him a freak. Especially after he had so rudely corrected her when she had made a mistake in naming a part of the car. However, it was Sherlock who tried to build her back up with his smile and that warmth in his eyes.

Molly couldn't help but smile and again her heart gave a tiny little leap.

And then there was another moment that made her doubt again.

Molly and Sherlock were in the stairwell of the train freak and he had just revealed to her that he always trusted Molly. That she would count both and that he was going to ask her for help if she hadn't left. Then he apologized to her for all the trouble he had always caused her.

Again she felt the tears welling up, this time from joy and compassion. With her eyes slightly lowered to her ring, she thanked him for it. Sherlock followed her gaze and his heart sank in his chest. For some reason, he seemed disappointed.

He swallowed before recovering his words and congratulating her. She smiled and told him about her fiancé and how they met. However, she said nothing of all the pain and sadness over his death.

When she finished her tales, he smiled at her again. He wore that exact look he had in the locker room. Then he slowly moved toward her.

"I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it" he said sincerely.

In front of her face, he paused briefly and seemed to hesitate. Briefly his eyes wandered to her lips. Then he put on his smile again and was about to plant a kiss on her cheek when Molly moved her head.

Molly thought about his words and also about the fact that she could see a slight sadness and disappointment in his eyes. She knew there would never be another opportunity to feel his lips on her skin. And even though she had a fiancé and the guilt might follow her endlessly, she wanted it. And before she knew it, she turned her head enough so that Sherlock wasn't meeting her cheek but her lips.

Sherlock seemed briefly surprised, but did not immediately detach himself from her lips. However, after realizing what he was doing and that Molly was engaged, he moved away.

"I'm sorry. " he murmured, slightly embarrassed.

But Molly took a step forward, taking his face in her hands and closing the distance between them. Just before his lips she breathed:

"Not me," and immediately put her lips back on Sherlock's.

He returned the kiss immediately and kissed her intimately. Almost as if he wanted to make sure that this was really happening and that it was really Molly who was standing in front of him. Molly, on the other hand, lost herself completely in the kiss. The rising warmth in her body only spurred her on. The feel of his lips on hers, so perfect and soft, triggered a feeling in her that she never felt with her fiancé. Plagued by sudden guilt, she finally broke away from Sherlock and looked down at the floor, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I can't..." she sobbed lightly, then immediately ran out the door into the open.

This time it was Sherlock who was left completely baffled. With his fingers on his lips, he looked after the woman he had been thinking about all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oha, that's when it happened. The first kiss between the two 😊 Hopefully, it was not the only one or?
> 
> What do you guys think will happen next? Will Molly go through with it and marry Tom or will she finally break off her engagement and go to Sherlock?  
> I'm curious what you guys think about it 😉


	5. chapter 5

Molly moved as quickly as she could away from the house where she left Sherlock. The evening was advancing and it continued to cool. But she didn't care. Her whole body was still on fire.

She still couldn't quite believe it. She had kissed Sherlock. And the strangest thing about it, Sherlock hadn't pulled away from her. It almost seemed as if he had wanted to. But no, that was impossible!

Carefully she touched her mouth with her trembling fingers and still felt that sensation on her lips. Those wonderful soft lips that enclosed hers with such gentleness. Then she remembered the look on his face when he caught sight of Molly's engagement ring. He looked disappointed almost sad.

And then it came to her suddenly. She had kissed someone else. She was engaged and she had kissed a man who was not her fiancé. And she had enjoyed it. She had wanted to.

So slowly guilt began to settle in her. She didn't know what to say or do. How should she face Tom after all this?

Should she say anything at all? After all, it was a one-time thing that would certainly never happen again. Or maybe it would?

Molly couldn't think straight when she arrived at the street where her apartment was located. By now it had begun to snow and the lights of the city were scaring away the darkness.

When she arrived at her front door, she noticed that everything was dark.

`So Tom wasn't there' she thought and exhaled in relief.

She could not and would not face it today. She would much rather stay alone and think about everything in peace.

Sometime after several glasses of wine, she came to the decision that it was a one-time thing and she wouldn't tell Tom about it. She thought of how she had grieved over missed opportunities to be close to him after Sherlock's death and had simply taken the opportunity that day. Just once, she wanted to feel his lips on hers. Just once to forget everything. And then she would be able to leave him behind and start a new life with her fiancé. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

* * *

It had been about two weeks now since Molly had kissed Sherlock. The weather was gradually changing and it was getting milder. Molly managed to avoid Sherlock as best she could during that time. She had signed up for the night shifts and when she did work at Bart's during the day, she spent most of her time in her small office with unfinished paperwork.

But today was different. John and Mary had invited everyone to Baker Street to celebrate their engagement. Molly knew from John that he was going to propose to Mary, but had been interrupted in his actual plan with Sherlock's reappearance. Basically, they weren't even engaged yet, but they wanted to celebrate anyway. And they had invited Molly and her fiancé to the festivities.

Tom knew that Molly knew Sherlock Holmes but knew nothing of her feelings for him at the time. She felt a little uncomfortable at the thought of facing him today after their kiss. And then with her fiancé, too. The one she had actually cheated on with Sherlock.

A thousand questions rushed through her mind.

How would he react if he saw her? Would he call her on it, or would he ignore her completely?

One question really burned itself into her brain: Did Sherlock regret it?

"Are you ready?" suddenly asked a voice behind her.

She shook her head, as if trying to shake out all the questions and thoughts, before turning around, giving him a small smile, and then grabbing Tom's hand and making her way down Baker Street with him.

It took only a short cab ride for them to arrive. With slightly shaky legs, she got out of the cab, grabbed Tom's arm and slowly moved towards the door. It was a little more difficult to make progress than she had thought, with numerous reporters nearly blocking her path.

"What's going on here?" asked Tom, slightly confused, frowning.

Molly just shrugged her shoulders.

"Probably just waiting for Sherlock. After all, he has come back from the dead."

As she said this her heart gave another slight jump and images of the locker room and stairwell appeared in her mind's eye.

They fought their way through the crowd of reporters and continued to the door. It was not locked and so they could just walk through. Molly stopped short and dropped her arm from Tom's. Concerned, he turned to her.

"Is everything okay, Molly?"

She didn't answer. Her gaze tracked up the steps. So slowly she heard her heart pounding in her chest and visibly stiffened.

"Molly?" asked Tom further, concerned.

She startled out of her thoughts before turning to him and then nodding slowly.

"Yeah everything's okay. It's just that I haven't been here in a long time, especially after Sherlock died."

Tom just nodded in understanding, walked over to her and then took her hand in his. She looked at their clasped hands for a moment. It was an affectionate gesture and really she should consider herself lucky to have such an obliging man by her side, but she didn't. She didn't feel the same way under Sherlock's touch.

Tom gently squeezed her hand and Molly came back to reality. She returned his gentle gesture and then finally went up the stairs with him.

The door was open, just like last time. From inside they heard voices and joyful laughter. She exhaled once more unnoticed and then stepped inside. Tom behind her.

"Hello everyone!" she now greeted the people and immediately introduced them to Tom, her fiancé.

She caught sight of Sherlock at the window. With his back turned to her. Just like the last time. And again he looked forbiddenly handsome. She slapped herself for her thoughts and was grateful that Greg handed her a glass of champagne. With all her might she tried not to focus on the man at the window and then turned her eyes to the others who were talking with Tom with interest.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all,' Molly thought to herself and had to smile slightly.

All of a sudden, however, Sherlock turned around and started walking towards them.

His gaze was fixed on John, who motioned for him to go downstairs. For some reason, he tried to avoid Molly's gaze and looked down at the floor. However, when he came to stand in front of Tom, he paused, shook his head in disbelief, and eyed him up and down. John caught sight of him and looked mildly amused, while Sherlock looked more questioning and slightly irritated.

`Shit!´ Molly thought to herself as she noticed the look on the detective's face. And also when Sherlock briefly cast his questioning eyes on her.

Molly knew, of course, that Tom bore some outward resemblance to Sherlock. She had hoped, however, that he would not notice. After all, he had never really shown any interest in the men in her life before. Well, except for Jim. But that was something else.

Slightly embarrassed, she lowered her eyes and downed the contents of her glass in one go.

Sherlock, however, said nothing, just shook Tom's hand briefly and then walked out the door with John.

Molly expelled the air after he left, not realizing that she had stopped it earlier. She then walked in the direction of the couch, grabbed another drink and stood next to her fiancé.

While everyone else around her was engrossed in conversation, she couldn't help but ponder the look and Sherlock's reaction.

Again, the images of the kiss came to her mind. And again she felt the warmth rise on her cheeks.

She excused herself briefly to the others and then headed toward the bathroom. Molly desperately needed a blast of cold water on her face right now.

After she had dried off, she looked in the mirror again when suddenly the door was pushed open.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, slightly confused, and looked at her. With his lips, he formed her name.

"Oh, sorry. I'll be done in a minute" Molly replied to him shyly and slowly walked out to the exit.

Sherlock, however, did not move, so she had to push past him. Her breasts brushed his and their fingers touched lightly as she squeezed past. Their faces were so inches apart that when Molly raised her head now, their lips brushed. Her whole body ignited and she tingled where she involuntarily touched him. There was a strange electrifying tension in the air. Molly knew she had to get out of here as soon as possible before she did anything else stupid.

But before she could step back out into the hallway and join the others, he held her by the wrist.

With an uncertain and confused look, she looked first at the hand that closed around her wrist and then into his eyes.

"What's wrong?" she then asked with a slight frown but also concern in her eyes.

Sherlock seemed to think for a moment.

"Nothing. Sorry, Molly," he then replied and let go of her wrist again.

Again the air crackled violently between them and the electrifying tension returned. Both were so focused on his counterpart that they didn't notice they were being watched.

**Sherlock POV**

After letting go of Molly's wrist, he quickly turned and disappeared into the bathroom. Bent over the sink, with his hands on the sides of it, he searched for footing. His knuckles were nearly white. Still he felt that crackle. He could swear he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. That's how excited he was. He felt a strange tingling sensation rise throughout his body and his skin burned like fire where Molly had touched him.

He wanted to kiss her. Press her against the doorframe and kiss her. Press her body against his and seal his lips with hers. Again and again.

But then he remembered that not far away, her fiancé would be waiting for her. And his chance with her had passed.

His stomach tightened painfully and he felt a thick lump in his throat.

He thought of that kiss. That kiss that had made his whole world go completely haywire. Sherlock hadn't actually intended to kiss her. Especially after he had heard about their engagement, but it was different. Molly wanted it and it just felt right at that moment.

Ever since he had left for his mission, he had been thinking about Molly incessantly. He was disappointed that he couldn't say goodbye to her. He was afraid that he might not survive it and thus never confess his true feelings to Molly.

Sherlock had never believed in anything like love or romantic feelings, let alone lived completely contrary to those notions but with Molly it was different.

It began the first time he had seen Molly in the lab with her boyfriend, who would later turn out to be Moriarty. Even though he could quickly deduce this one as homosexual, he still felt a strange sense of jealousy rising inside him. Molly was excited and seemed happy. And worst of all, it wasn't because of him. In front of John, of course, he didn't want to let on. That's why he reacted so dismissively, humiliating her.

Another time he felt those feelings at the Christmas party. And again it was Sherlock who humiliated them with his deductions. He felt guilt and remorse and something broke inside him when he saw how hurt she was. At the time, however, he didn't know what it meant. And as he gave her that kiss on the cheek, he felt his body warm up and his heart begin to beat violently in his chest.

He hadn't talked to anyone about these kinds of feelings and reactions from his body, and he wanted to dismiss it as a one-time thing. But it didn't stop there.

He had never felt this way about anyone before. Not even for Irene Adler, or as Sherlock called her, "the woman." Back at her "death," it was different. Sure, he was disappointed and maybe a little bit sad but only because he had lost a person who seemed to be a match for him and his intellect. But he never harbored any sexual interest in her. It was different with Molly. He wanted Molly. He wanted to feel her body on his. Her skin on his. Every inch of him craved her. And so did that one special muscle in his chest.

He realized more and more that he had made a mistake. He should never have let her kiss him. He should have pushed himself away from her immediately. But he didn't, and now he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Just as Sherlock was about to continue pursuing his thoughts and the wonderful memories, there was a sudden knock at the door.

"Hello Sherlock? Buddy, is everything okay? You've been in there quite a while."

It was John, standing on the other side of the door, sounding slightly concerned.

And then Sherlock had an idea.

John. John, of course. His best friend who knew all this emotional nonsense. Maybe he should start opening up to him and talk to him about it. Maybe John knew what to do or how to turn these feelings off.

"Anyway. Mary, Greg, Molly, Tom and I want to go to another bar. You're welcome to come along." explained John when he heard nothing from inside.

"Though I doubt that's something for you" he muttered further. More to himself than to Sherlock.

When he still heard nothing after a few seconds, he slowly moved away from the door.

"John, wait!" prompted Sherlock after he had opened the bathrooms.

John turned abruptly and now looked at the detective with a frown.

"Before we go, I'd want to have a quick...quick word with you" Sherlock then said slightly sheepishly. Looking down.

The wrinkles on John's forehead only deepened in response.

"Oh, sure. I'll just let the others know," he said and immediately disappeared into the adjoining living room.


	6. chapter 6

Sherlock had decided to open up to John so that he could explore his feelings for Molly more deeply.

The other patrons disappeared into a nearby bar and now John and Sherlock sat in their armchairs facing each other. Several minutes passed in silence.

John looked at his friend expectantly and frowned again when he said nothing.

"Okay Sherlock. You're going to have to say something if you want me to help you" John then said impatiently.

Sherlock opened his mouth briefly, but closed it again at the same time. He didn't know how to start or what to say. For the first time in his life, Sherlock felt helpless.

When Sherlock still said nothing, John slowly became more impatient. He slapped his thighs with his hands and then stood up with a flourish.

"Okay. So when you're ready, check in. I'll be in the bar with the others for so long."

This finally prompted Sherlock to say something after all. However, it was not what he had been thinking. Before he could even stop it, the words were already leaving his mouth.

"I kissed Molly."

John stopped abruptly in his movements and stared at his friend now with his mouth open. Then, very slowly, he sat down again. Mouth still open. Eyes wide open.

Sherlock stiffened slightly, expecting one of the usual telling offs from John but nothing came.

"John?" he asked, looking puzzled into his friend's face.

John didn't answer. Now it was up to Sherlock, who was getting impatient.

"JOHN!" he shouted again and now finally the latter seemed to wake up from his rigidity.

John swallowed hard once before closing his mouth again and focusing on the man across from him.

"I'm sorry. You what?" he then asked. Apparently he couldn't quite believe it yet.

"I kissed Molly and I don't know what to do now!" said Sherlock, slightly annoyed, rolling his eyes.

Still he waited for the telling off. But what left his best friend's mouth then, he had never expected.

"Holy shit. You like her!"

"What, no. What makes you think that?" asked Sherlock, startled.

John sighed.

"Sherlock. I may not be a genius like you but I know when someone is in love. Your body speaks volumes."

Puzzled, Sherlock looked at him.

"You're insecure. Your cheeks are flushed and not just when you mentioned her name. You can't look me in the eye. You're asking me what you should do, even though you don't really

care about feelings or other people. And most important of all, the looks you kept giving Molly. You like Molly a lot and you don't know how to deal with it now.

Am I right?" he then explained, looking at him expectantly.

"That's what I just said!" growled Sherlock then, still unable to look him in the eye.

"Yeah but not that you like them" John grinned, but was already bracing himself for one of Sherlock's typical lectures on "feelings are for losers etc.". All the more surprised was what Sherlock said next.

"I don't know it, what I feel. All I know is that I can't get Molly out of my mind."

"Sherlock. What exactly do you feel when you think about Molly?"

"Aaargh, I don't feel anything. You know that, John!"

"Okay. Let me ask it another way. What do you feel in your body when you think about Molly?" sighed John, lightly stroking his hair.

"Really John? Seriously?" asked Sherlock, looking at him with a slightly skeptical look.

"Well, either you want me to help you or you don't!" replied John now irritated and slightly annoyed.

"Then don't" Sherlock grumbled.

John looked at his friend for a moment, slightly confused and questioning, before rising from his chair again.

"Okay, then don't. I'm off to join my other friends and celebrate my engagement to the woman I love!"

John wasn't quite out the door when he heard.

"Wait, John! Sit down again!"

Although John was angry at his friend's stubbornness, curiosity still got the better of him. As was imposed upon him, he sat down again and waited to hear what Sherlock had to say.

"As you know, the whole thing doesn't really suit me. The feeling thing and all."

"I know," John interrupted him and was immediately met with an annoyed look in response.

Sherlock took another deep breath and then tried to remember all the sensations his body was giving off at the thought of Molly. But he couldn't put it into words, and somehow it made him uncomfortable. But then suddenly another idea came to him.

"How do you feel when you have to think about Mary? When you're around her?" he asked, hoping John would jump on the bandwagon.

John visibly puzzled by his question, looked at Sherlock with a quizzical look before it occurred to him that his account of how he felt would probably be more helpful to talk about. Even though it seemed awkward to talk about his true feelings for Mary with Sherlock, he couldn't just avoid his question now. Not now, when Sherlock was finally about to open up to him.

He took another deep breath and then spoke.

"When I'm with Mary, I feel like I'm home. I've arrived where I've always wanted to be. My heart leaps when I see her smile. I am happy when she is and I am sad when she is. She completes me and my life in every way possible. I am nothing without her. And God damn it, I'm going to marry this beautiful woman and she's going to be the mother of my children.

So now you know, and don't you dare use that against me anytime soon!" he then said warningly, but couldn't help a grin.

"Hmm."

"So, what do you think?" asked John then.

"I think you should spend less time watching junk TV." he then replied completely emotionless.

But before John could respond angrily or leave the room, he continued speaking.

"But some of it felt familiar. Molly knows me like no one else does. I appreciate her for always being by my side to help me no matter what I do. I trust her and she is one of the most important people in my life. I feel strangely comfortable around her. My body goes crazy around her. When she touches me. I can't stop thinking about her and my stomach tightens when she's not with me or when I know she's with that idiot." Sherlock explained sincerely, his face contorting in disgust at the word "idiot."

"So what do you think it is?" he asked afterwards.

John said nothing at first. Instead, he just grinned from ear to ear.

"I'm sorry to say this, but I think you're in love, Sherlock. And I think you should talk to Molly."

Sherlock then frowned in confusion. Was it really like that? Did he feel that way? Was he in love with Molly? And if so, how long had this been going on? And what should he do now? Should he really tell her, even if she was already engaged to someone else?

"John, you're forgetting one little thing. Molly is engaged to be married this..." Sherlock pondered. His eyes wandered wildly around the room.

"... this Tom" he continued, having remembered the name.

His friend heaved another sigh of realization and despair. Not in a hundred years had he imagined that Sherlock could show any emotion, let alone have anything left for anyone but himself. And now that he was about to tear down his wall, there was an extreme obstacle.

"Okay. I don't think I should tell you this right now but you and Molly are my friends and I want you to be happy."

Sherlock waited anxiously to hear what John would say now.

"Sherlock," he began, leaning forward a little.

"Molly kissed you even though she was engaged and let's face it, you saw it too. Her fiancé is far too much like you. Molly clearly isn't over you and is only using Tom because she can't have you."

Eyes wide open, Sherlock now stared at his counterpart, thinking about what he had said.

`Was John right? Did Molly still feel something for me? And was this Tom just a distraction that reminded her of me?'

His head rattled and rattled. He cursed himself for never filing definitions or explanations of this sort in his mind palace. He had no choice but to rely on his friend in this case. But was he ready for that yet? Molly seemed happy. Did he really want to destroy Molly's happiness? Could he be that selfish?

"So, what are you going to do now?" asked John, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"I don't know" Sherlock answered honestly, looking slightly clueless.

John nodded.

"Okay. But then at least come with us to the bar to celebrate a little. It will distract you" he then suggested and stood up again.

"Bars. Society. Not really my area" he replied with a skeptical look.

"Yes, and nothing like feelings or love either. So come on, it won't be so bad! And who knows, maybe you'll have a good time too!" he replied, rolling his eyes theatrically.

"Pfff, love. I definitely wouldn't go that far!" snorted Sherlock, but stood up and then followed the shorter blond man out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if John came across a bit effeminate but I just wanted to create something where Sherlock could open up. And after all John is the romantic one of the two :D


	7. chapter 7

John and Sherlock arrived a short time later at the address of the bar Mary had sent him. It was a rather nondescript place with dim lighting and various jumbled pictures of London and its history hung all over the walls. Sherlock was already cursing himself for agreeing to this.

He followed John to the back of the pub to find the group laughing at one of the large tables. Everyone looked up in surprise after he approached the table. He was about to turn and leave when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Holmes. I'm glad you decided to join us. Would you like something to drink?"

It was Tom, standing beside him, slightly inebriated, with a glass of beer in his hand. Sherlock eyed the hand on his shoulder with a skeptical look at first, before turning to face it with slightly narrowed eyes. Then he deprecatingly pushed the hand off his shoulder.

Molly watched the whole situation with a fear-filled look and held her breath. It wasn't until Sherlock answered him and then sat down in the chair across from her that she expelled her breath again.

"I'll have a beer." said Sherlock then, pausing for a moment. He seemed to be thinking.

"And thank you."

Molly couldn't help but smile slightly. Carefully, she reached her hand across the table and lightly clasped Sherlock's. Relief in her eyes and the word "thank you" on her lips. Sherlock slightly surprised at the touch, nodded slightly at her. Molly then pulled her hand away again and Sherlock instantly felt the warmth leave him again.

The hours passed and most of the group was beginning to get quite drunk. There was a lot of laughter and a wide variety of stories were exchanged. For Sherlock, they were rather boring and bland conversations, so he quickly retreated into his head and sipped his drink from time to time. When Tom was then asked about his life, however, Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes dismissively. With a glance at Molly, however, he decided not to say anything further.

At some point, he became a little uncomfortable in his chair and stretched his long legs out from under the table. His leg brushed against Molly's. Slightly nervous, she looked at Sherlock and then sheepishly to the side. Her cheeks flushed slightly and Sherlock couldn't help but grin to himself. It pleased him that he still seemed to have such an effect on her.

Time continued to pass and the drinks continued to flow. At some point, Molly had to leave the table briefly and go to the restrooms.

And again it was Sherlock who encountered a tipsy Molly in the narrow hallway. She tried as hard as she could to have a straight walk, but briefly lost her balance as she approached him.

Sherlock caught her with ease and held her in his arms. He breathed in her sweet scent and instantly felt that tingle run through his body again. Molly looked deep into his eyes and grinned.

"Thanks," she mumbled, blushing slightly under the detective's gaze.

Even though the light was quite dim, she could clearly see that his eyes were dark. Heat spread through her and she felt a burning desire rise up inside her.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol or Sherlock himself but suddenly she forgot everything around her.

She leaned further into Sherlock's embrace and rubbed herself lightly against him, causing him to groan slightly. Slowly, she then ran her tongue along his neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was paralyzed. Molly felt his growing arousal and it only spurred her on. With her mouth she continued to kiss her way down his neck, sucking and then finding her way to his ear. She nibbled lightly on his earlobe, causing Sherlock to moan again. With a slight smile on her lips, she continued to trail her way down his cheeks, his chin. With her hands, she slowly slid down his chest to his stomach. Carefully she pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid her hands underneath. Under her hands she felt the heat of his skin. She stroked his abs and then moved further down. Sherlock trembled under her touch. Her hands were just finding their way to his waistband when Sherlock suddenly woke from his stupor and grabbed her hair with his hands. Gently, he pulled it back enough so that her lips hovered just above his. He cupped her face with both hands. His eyes still fixed on Molly's. Gently, he took in her scent of strawberries and wine and was about to close the distance between them when voices suddenly appeared at the other end of the hallway, startling them both apart.

Molly stood against the opposite wall, glancing nervously at Sherlock. Her chest rose and fell from her rapid breathing. Sherlock didn't even avert his gaze from her the entire time.

As the guest slipped past them and disappeared into one of the rooms, it was Sherlock who closed the distance between them. Again he gently put his hands to Molly's cheeks. But something was different now.

There was suddenly sheer shock in her eyes. Eyes wide, she looked at him.

"Oh my God. Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do this. I shouldn't have done that."

Sherlock then abruptly dropped his hands in disappointment. The realization came to Molly that it was wrong and she was ashamed of it.

"Molly. It's okay." he whispered softly, hoping to reassure her somewhat.

"No! How can it be okay! Damn it I'm engaged!" she was yelling now. There was anger and despair in her voice at the same time.

Startled, Sherlock took a step back. His eyes widened.

"No. I'm sorry, I can't do this!" she screamed again, then ran to the end of the hallway. Back to her friends. Back to her fiancé.

Sherlock stared after Molly, who fled from him in utter horror. He sighed heavily.

He knew he couldn't stay here. Briefly, he straightened his step and cursed himself for having such a reaction to Molly's body. He also went back to the table, briefly fished a few bills out of his pocket, placed them on the table and disappeared without saying a word or glancing at Molly.

He stepped out into the cold London night air and took a deep breath. His mind wandered back to Molly and what had just happened. Sherlock knew he would have kept going if they hadn't been disturbed. Again, he felt that warmth enveloping his entire body. His body yearned for her. He was literally longing for her. And contrary to his friends' assumptions that he had no feelings or sexual needs, he wanted her. He wanted Molly Hooper.

But it was too dangerous. Molly would never take that step. She felt that she had already taken it too far with that kiss. She was just too responsible and sensible for that. She simply had too pure a heart for that.

Sherlock was clear that he would never want to hurt Molly and thus would not want to destroy her happiness. She seemed happy with her fiancé and that meant for him to back off and stay away.

He heaved another deep sigh, then buried his hands in his pockets and finally made his way back to Baker Street.

With one last look, he said goodbye.


	8. chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey 😉
> 
> I just wanted to let you know that I will upload any more chapters for now. So I decided to put a few in today. Some of you may find some scenes familiar. After all, I've kept some scenes of the series and only slightly adapted :D I hope you like them anyway and let quiet a few thoughts from you on this there 😉 
> 
> Until then, have a great time and stay healthy!

Over the next few weeks, Sherlock managed to distance himself more and more from Molly and his feelings for her. Thankfully, there were many people who needed his help and he was able to throw himself into more and more cases. In case he had no requests, he assisted John and Mary as best he could with the wedding preparations.

On his sudden departure in the bar, John had asked him again, but then left it at that when Sherlock did not reveal anything. Sherlock just wanted to think back on it as little as possible and let Molly back into his head.

It was still now just under 2 weeks until the wedding and the three of them were currently at Baker Street for final preparations. Sherlock was just bending over some models for the napkins and was completely engrossed while John read him a few requests for possible cases. So neither even caught Mary's horrified look. She eyed the detective in front of her critically as he explained different folding techniques. Her gaze briefly wandered to her fiancé, but he was too engrossed in staring at his phone and didn't notice her help-seeking look.

Mary then had to pull out all the stops and feigned an important phone call. She briefly apologized to Sherlock for having to interrupt him in his explanation and then turned her attention to her phone. She knew exactly what she should do to make John finally wake up.

"Oh, hello Beth," she greeted the supposed woman on the other end and with a wave of her finger, disappeared from the room.

It wasn't long before John was already rounding the corner. There was a questioning and skeptical look in his eyes.

"What's this about? Sherlock knows we don't know Beth?!"

With a concerned look on her face, Mary now turned to John.

"John. He's folding napkins. He's scared!" she then explained to him.

"What do you mean?" he then asked and Mary briefly explained what she meant.

John then shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't think it's that. I think it's more like he's trying to distract himself from someone."

"What someone?" asked Mary curiously. Her eyes widened.

John took another quick look around the corner to make sure they couldn't be heard and then turned back to his fiancée.

"Okay so I think it has something to do with Molly. That night when we were still in the bar, Sherlock told me just before that he kissed Molly. Yeah, and then he just disappeared from the bar without saying anything. And ever since then, he's been acting so strange. Even weirder than usual. I think something happened between them," he explained, keeping his voice as low as possible.

"What, you mean when they almost had hot gang sex?" replied Mary monotonously.

John's mouth instantly dropped wide open and he was now staring at her with wide eyes.

"W...What?"

"Yes. I was just on my way to the bathroom when I spotted the two of them at the far end of the hallway, leaning tightly against the wall. I can't tell you exactly what was there but I'll tell you, air was extremely heated and just crackling." she explained to him with a sly grin on her lips.

"Oh my god! Do you think Sherlock is in love with Molly?" she then asked. The grin grew.

"Have you talked to him yet? What did he say? Is he going to tell her?" she continued to ask, not letting John get a word in edgewise.

"Okay, stop. Mary slowly." he prompted her, sighing slightly.

"I think he definitely feels something for Molly and yes I've tried talking to him but he's obviously not ready."

"Hmm. Maybe you should just let me do the talking?" It seemed less like a question, though.

John looked at her with an astonished expression on his face. Then he raised his hands defensively.

"Okay, if you think you could have more success. Here you go."

Mary said nothing in response but just gave him a look that said "So, please" and rolled her eyes. Before she could step back into the living room, John stopped her.

"Wait. You want to do this now? And what am I supposed to do in that time?"

"I don't know. Why don't you just go buy something? I think we're out of milk" she replied, then winked at him and disappeared into the next room.

Sherlock turned to her and looked slightly embarrassed. Around him were dozens of folded napkins.

"That just happened," he tried to apologize, looking down at the floor sheepishly.

Mary had to smirk slightly, but also looked at him with concern.

"Okay, Sherlock. What's up?"

No small talk or any trivial banter. She got right to the point.

"How, nothing's wrong. I was merely sampling something," pointing to the multitude of folded napkins around him.

"Sherlock! I can see something is wrong. Why or who are you trying to distract yourself from?"

Sherlock looked at her curiously and questioningly in response. His eyes narrowed slightly. He heaved a deep sigh.

"Did John talk to you? Of course he has. After what he told me about you, it was only to be expected that he couldn't keep his mouth shut!" He said the latter more to himself than to her.

Then he rose from that sea of napkins and settled into his chair. With a loud sigh, he dropped down.

"JOHN!" he cried angrily.

"Where is he anyway?"

Mary knew full well that Sherlock was just trying to distract. Despite wanting to know what John had said about her, she would not avoid him. Instead, she now turned her body to face him, shrugging her shoulders just slightly.

"Hmm, I think he was going to buy milk. And Sherlock, try not to get distracted now.

So, you kissed Molly and you obviously have feelings for her. Your last meeting doesn't seem to have gone so well and now you're trying to distract yourself by doing some kind of work that doesn't suit you at all." explained Mary.

"Tss, who says I have any feelings for her?" he asked with a snort, hoping Mary would drop the subject. But he wasn't so lucky.

Instead of getting mad, she just grinned.

"Well, then the next time you two can't keep your hands off each other, you should go to a less public place."

Her grin only widened when she saw the look on his face.

Sherlock was now staring at her with his mouth open and his eyes wide. His cheeks colored slightly.

"You...you saw us?" he stammered.

Of course Mary had seen the two of them. She wasn't going to make it that easy for him, though.

"Well, actually, I only saw Molly standing close to the wall with a man. And since Tom was sitting at our table at the time, it had to be someone else. I didn't know who but thanks Sherlock. I now have confirmation of my suspicions" she teased him and continued to grin.

Sherlock inwardly slapped his forehead with his hand. Mary had set him up and he had now openly confessed to her that he was the man Molly had been making out with.

"So, you and Molly?" she then asked when Sherlock didn't reply.

"No, Mary. You're wrong. Molly and that Tom guy. And me, alone. Just me."

"Okay, just YOU. But you'd like it to be Molly and YOU, wouldn't you?"

He didn't answer, just looked down at the floor in embarrassment. He felt the heat on his cheeks and turned away from her. Mary just rolled her eyes.

"Sherlock, look at me!" she demanded. When Sherlock slowly turned his head up and looked at her, she continued.

"Molly likes you. She likes you a lot. She wouldn't have kissed you or almost walked all over you in that hallway if she didn't?! Even though she's engaged, she can't forget you. And secretly, she knows her engagement is a mistake. I'm not saying Tom's a bad guy, but she deserves someone better. Someone like you. From what John told me, I know she only moved on because she thought you were dead and she missed her chance with you. But now you're here. And I'm telling you to get the hell off your ass and go get her! It's not too late!"


	9. chapter 9

Molly had rarely seen Sherlock after that evening in the bar. It was almost like it was before his "death".   
Shortly after that evening, she traveled with her fiancé to visit his parents and spent a few days there before throwing herself back into work. After that evening and her slip towards Sherlock, she began to feel uncomfortable being around him. She felt more and more a desire that she could no longer satisfy and so she took the only option that seemed right for her at the moment. Escape and resignation.   
She hoped to rekindle their love through the days with Tom at his parents' house, but a certain detective kept creeping into her thoughts. His lips, so soft and tender that Molly longed for them more and more. His taut body that trembled under her touch and those sounds that Molly could elicit from his body with desire. She had never felt so close to a man as she did with Sherlock. Not even with her fiancé.   
She knew she had to do something about it immediately, and so she used every free minute to be closer to Tom. But even then, Sherlock kept creeping into her mind.

Gradually, she became more and more desperate. She didn't want to give up on Tom. He loved her and literally carried her on his hands. But she couldn't let go of Sherlock either. But she also knew that if she didn't get Sherlock out of her head, she would gradually jeopardize their relationship.  
But that one evening at home with Tom changed everything, and Molly was beginning to question her whole engagement.

It had now been three days since Molly realized that her relationship with Tom was not what she thought it was and only a few more until John and Mary's wedding. She needed to talk to someone about it. So, without further ado, she reached for her phone and dialed the number she knew she could count on for help. 

"Hello Molly. What's up?" the voice on the other end asked in a concerned tone.

"Hey Rebecca. Why would there be anything? I just wanted to check in with you again" Molly replied, but could already picture her friend with an annoyed eye roll on the other end.

"Molly. It's only been a few weeks since we heard from each other. And in such short intervals, you usually only check in when something is on your mind. So sweetie, what happened?"

Rebecca was right. Molly always kept in touch reliably but usually at longer intervals. And yet when they spoke on the phone several times in a short period of time, something happened. And usually it was just about a certain person. 

"Hello, Molly?"

"I messed up, Rebecca," she said, sighing heavily.

"Oh my God! You slept with that detective!" she squealed over the phone.

"REBECCA! No!" she screamed indignantly into the phone.

"Okay, okay, okay. I just thought since most of our phone calls revolve around this guy... So what did you do then?"

"Okay so, it has something to do with Sherlock but I didn't sleep with him. I was kissing him. Several times and the last time I almost moved on. And the worst part, I wanted to! Rebecca, I wanted to sleep with someone else even though I was engaged!"

"Hmm. And how was it? Is he a good kisser?" her friend teased her.

"REBECCA!"

"That's okay. Not a good time for jokes, huh? So, okay. You kissed that Sherlock guy, several times. You almost slept with him and you wanted to. You're engaged to Tom and so now you're not sure what to do." she repeated again.  
"Are you in love with this Sherlock guy?" asked Rebecca then.

Molly didn't know how to answer that. She had thought several times about whether she still had feelings for Sherlock, and if so, what they were. After his death, she had moved on, started over, met someone, fallen in love, and gotten engaged. Then Sherlock reappeared and her feelings took a roller coaster ride. Long-forgotten and buried emotions resurfaced. And Sherlock was also different since his return. He was friendly and courteous toward her. And Molly felt that warmth enveloping her body again, at the thought of him. But was she still in love with Sherlock?

"I don't know."

"Okay, I'll try it another way. This Sherlock, did he return your kisses?"

"Yes."

"So he wanted to. That's great!"

"Rebecca, you're not being much help! You know I'm with Tom!" sighed Molly heavily.

"Yeah but Molly, do you love Tom or is he just a stopgap for someone you thought you could never have?"

"Even if I did. This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. You don't know him. Sherlock is...he's...different. He doesn't value relationships or anything like feelings. That could never work!"  
"But how would you know if you don't try?   
Do you remember how I met Oliver? I had broken up with Brian before that --"

"Oh yeah, that was a complete idiot!" interrupted Molly.

"True. But at the time, I thought he was the one for me. And then I met Oliver. He was a fifth-year resident. I couldn't stand him at first. He was so self-centered and arrogant and always harassed me with the humblest of tasks."

"I remember that. You used to just bitch about him on our phone calls back then. He was so mean to you"

"Yes but of course that was because he was secretly interested in me. I didn't know that at the time, of course. And then at some point he had asked me out on a date. I wanted to refuse of course but something kept pulling me towards him. Eventually I did get involved and it was the best decision I could have made."

"Yes, and now he's your wonderful husband, Rebecca. But how is that going to help me with my problem?" asked Molly, slightly impatient.

"My point is that you can never know what will happen if you don't try. I know how you always felt about that Sherlock, and when he died you were devastated. But now he's back and he seems to like you. So what are you waiting for? Go get him!" 

"But what about Tom? After all, I'm engaged to him?"

Molly could hear her friend take a deep breath at the end. 

"Oh, Molly. You know I just want you to be happy, right? But...but I don't think it will be with Tom. You know I like him but I don't think he's right for you. You deserve better. And that someone could be this Sherlock. And besides, you've been engaged to Tom for less than a year, which I think was pretty rushed, and you're already doubting it. You don't love Tom. You love Sherlock. Always have and never stopped. Just talk to him and tell him how you feel. And then you talk to Tom. I'm sure he'll understand.  
Yes and if nothing works out, you just come to us in York and we'll find you a nice young man here." 

Molly could clearly see her grinning face in front of her. But something about what Rebecca had said was true. She needed to figure out her feelings.

"Okay, Rebecca. You're right. I'll think about it."

"Okay, and Molly. If possible, try not to dump Tom until after the wedding. You don't want to show up there alone, do you? Nothing is more awkward than being at a wedding alone"

"Rebecca!" said Molly again indignantly.

"It's okay. I was kidding!" she then apologized.  
"So sweetie, let me know what you decide and if there's anything else, let me know. I'm here for you!"

"I will. Thanks, Rebecca. And say hi to Oliver for me!" she said afterward, then ended the call.

Molly now had a lot to think about. She needed to go over this whole situation in her mind one more time, piece by piece. She had to realize her feelings for Tom and Sherlock. And she had to make a decision.


	10. chapter 10

It was the day of the wedding and after the actual ceremony everyone gathered in a large, festively decorated room with a beautiful adjoining garden. Molly was there with Tom. Not that she had taken her friend's last advice. She just hadn't been able to decide yet. She had spent the last few days brooding and thinking. But she still could not make a final decision.

They were seated together with Mrs. Hudson and Greg at one of the tables in front. Mrs. Hudson brought her boyfriend from the café and Greg was there alone as usual. Accordingly, he let it rip with the drinks. Molly sat next to him and kept giving him an encouraging smile. Her fiancé sat to her other side.  
Molly let a glance wander around the room and couldn't help but notice that Sherlock was talking to the maid of honor the whole time. She was pretty and they both seemed to be getting on well.  
A feeling of jealousy flared up inside her and it didn't help that Tom was next to her.

Eventually the hall quietened down and everyone was now listening to the best man's speech. Sherlock seemed slightly nervous at first and couldn't find the right words. Eventually, however, he thawed out and involved the guests in one of his cases. Molly was hanging on his lips the whole time and the thought that her fiancé was sitting next to her completely ignored her.  
At some point during his presentation of a case, Sherlock asked the guests for some guesses for one of the possible murder weapons. 

Molly knew Sherlock too well and knew exactly what he was getting at. It was all the more humiliating for her when Tom spoke up. With his assumption he was the laughing stock of the detective and she wished that a hole would open up in the ground and she could crawl into it. Tom, however, was completely intrigued by his idea and blithely prattled on. At some point she couldn't stand it any longer and poked him rudely in the hand with her fork to stop him.  
She felt a slight pang of guilt. But there was something else. It was satisfaction. She was slightly amused by it, especially when she thought back to that evening with Tom in her flat.   
She had to stifle a grin, especially after Sherlock observed the situation as well and smirked.  
And that very moment gave her the rest of her decision. She had to talk to Tom. And as soon as possible. Without thinking about it, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the room.  
She couldn't wait any longer and just wanted to get this over with.

Once outside in the foyer, she then turned to him and looked into two questioning eyes. She took another deep breath before slowly slipping the ring off her finger and handing it to him. He refused at first and became upset. Molly explained to him that it wasn't him, it was her. She just wasn't ready for it and that everything was happening too fast for her. Tom, however, reacted differently than expected. He was strangely understanding and Molly was irritated when he took her in his arms. 

"I understand that it went too fast for you. And honestly, I felt the same way. I just couldn't say anything."

Molly broke free of his embrace and looked at him in wonder.  
"Oh Molly, now don't look like that. We'll just take it slow and wait a little longer, okay?" he said, smiling hopefully at her.

Molly didn't really know what was happening. She didn't understand the world anymore. She had just told Tom that she couldn't marry him, gave him back the ring and he wanted to continue being with her?

"Um Tom, I actually meant --"

"Can we talk about this later? Come on, let's go back. I want to know what happened next" he then said and pulled her back into the room by her arm.

Molly placed herself back in her chair, completely confused, and looked at her ex-fiancé. Tom noticed her stare and turned to her, smiling briefly before turning his eyes forward again.  
It was getting to be evening and the mood was gradually easing. After Sherlock was able to solve his case and arrest the culprit, the wedding guests visibly relaxed.  
It was the time when the wedding dance was to be held. Sherlock was playing his violin and John and Mary were standing in the middle of the large hall. Molly stood at the very front next to this maid of honor who kept making eyes at Sherlock the whole time. Tom remained seated at the table, chatting happily with Mrs Hudson. Molly was glad, she could finally take a breath and think the situation through again in her head. She didn't get to it, however, as Sherlock's beautiful playing completely distracted her.   
He was playing a waltz he had composed himself for the newlyweds and Molly was completely blown away by it and couldn't even take her eyes off him.  
The waltz ended, music played and Sherlock walked off stage. Molly could tell he was talking to John and Mary and briefly all eyes fell in her direction.  
Embarrassed, she turned away and focused her attention on the glass in front of her.

But after a few seconds she turned her head again to look back in the direction of the three. But Sherlock had disappeared. Her eyes searched the room but could not find him anywhere. Disappointed, she dropped her head. Her chest constricted and she felt the tears slowly gathering in her eyes. Tom then put his hand on hers and asked what was wrong. She shook her head, stood up and excused herself briefly. Quickly she moved outside. She just needed some fresh air now.

Molly stood leaning against the wall a little apart, looking up at the sky. Her thoughts kept flitting to Sherlock. And then to her conversation with Tom. She couldn't explain what had gone wrong. Why did Tom want to keep being with her? Had he gone mad?   
She sighed deeply as she suddenly noticed a dark shadow in the corner of her eye. Slowly he moved in her direction, but he couldn't see her because Molly herself was standing in the dark. As he came closer, she could see that it was Sherlock. He passed her unnoticed.

"Are you leaving already?" she then asked.  
Startled, Sherlock turned and searched for the voice he had heard. Molly stepped out of the shadows and Sherlock couldn't help but smile slightly.  
She took another step closer and his eyes began to roam over her body. 

"Hmm. Weddings. I think I've fulfilled my quota" he only replied. His hands clasped behind his back.  
"Besides, no one would notice my disappearance anyway".

"I would notice and I would be happy if you stayed" she said. Her voice was low.

Sherlock heard what she had said. A comforting feeling spread through him. He moved slowly towards her. On his lips was a smile. He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, reaching for her wrist with his other hand. His eyes fixed firmly on hers. 

"Oh, Molly," he breathed softly and then lowered his head to place a kiss on her cheek.  
Molly's breath quickened and she took in his masculine scent of his cologne, cedar and a hint of tobacco. Heat spread through her centre.   
Sherlock released his lips from her cheek. Then he turned his face slightly to hers so they could look into each other's eyes. Molly's pupils were dilated and he felt her racing pulse against his thumb. She turned her face further towards Sherlock so that her lips brushed lightly over his. Sherlock released her wrist from his grip and grasped her neck instead. Then, without thinking about the consequences, he pulled her to him. Unlike before, this time the kiss was hungry and demanding. He pined for her and Molly immediately deepened the kiss as well. Gently, she placed her hands on his neck and pulled him further towards her. His teeth playfully scratched Molly's lower lip, whereupon she willingly opened her mouth and Sherlock was able to slide his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her wildly and greedily and pushed her further against the wall. He broke away from her lips and moved on with his mouth. He moved over her chin, to her neck. He kissed and sucked and bit into it lightly, making Molly moan again. His path continued to her collarbone as his hands moved lightly under her breast. Gently he circled the underside of her breasts with his thumb. Molly slowly stroked her hands down his strong arms to his hips, sending electrical pulses through Sherlock's body. She put her hands on his hips and pulled him closer. She felt his growing erection and it sent a comforting heat to her centre. Sherlock captured her lips in another kiss. They only released when the air ran out. He looked deep into her eyes and then rested his forehead against hers. 

"Molly," he said softly. It was no more than a whisper, his breathing quick and heavy.

"Sherlock," Molly breathed, equally breathless. As she did so, she lifted her left hand and gently caressed his cheek.

Sherlock unceremoniously took her hand in his and brought it to his lips to place a few soft kisses on her knuckles. He couldn't help but notice that the engagement ring was missing and smiled. Once more he breathed a soft kiss on her lips before slowly turning away from her.   
"Come to Baker Street tomorrow. I want to talk to you about something" he then said as he turned to her once more.

Molly, still in a trance and with soft knees, just nodded slightly and gave him a smile that melted his heart.

"I'll be there, Sherlock. I promise," she called after him as a farewell.

  
...... But it was never to be......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I mentioned earlier, I'm going to take a break here for the time being. Thank you to everyone who has followed my story up to this point 😉 Of course, I would also appreciate a few thoughts on this from you 😊


	11. chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear reading enthusiasts ;-)
> 
> I hope you have survived the Christmas days well and slipped well into the new year? I wish you in any case a happy and healthy new year!  
> And since I had a relatively quiet start, I decided to continue writing. I hope you enjoy it and maybe see you soon!

The next day, Sherlock paced nervously up and down his apartment. He had invited Molly to join him on Baker Street for the day. He hadn't given her an exact time, only that she should come by. He didn't know when Molly would show up at his place, but hoped he shouldn't wait too long. Every now and then he took a quick look in the mirror. He was wearing the purple shirt that he knew Molly always liked best on him.  
Sherlock couldn't really explain where this nervousness came from. But then he thought back to last night. How perfectly her body would fit against his as she snuggled against him and the warmth that went through him as he held her in his arms and kissed her. The feeling that her presence and just the mere thought of her, always triggered in him. He hadn't just asked Molly to come to Baker Street. Today he was going to tell her his feelings openly. Open his heart to her. He wasn't aware of how yet but he knew there was only one person he wanted to be with. And that was Molly.

Time passed and Sherlock had decided that as long as he would wait, he could handle a few of his clients' requests.  
He managed to clear up most of the inquiries without getting out of his chair once. It was now early evening and still no sign of Molly.  
A slight feeling of disappointment spread and slowly he wondered if Molly would show up at all. Thousands of thoughts flew through his head.

Where was Molly? Had she forgotten? Had something happened?

But one question kept intruding. Anger and rage the constant companions of that question.

Had she stood him up?

Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.

"No. Molly's not like that. She would never abandon me. And after all, she promised!" he kept muttering to himself, trying to calm himself down.

A knock on the door triggered a brief glimmer of hope in him.

"Hoo hoo" he heard a familiar voice and the heart in his chest immediately sank again.

"Everything okay my dear?" asked Mrs. Hudson as she saw the disappointment on his face.

"Everything's fine," he replied coolly.

"What is it?"

The older woman looked skeptical but decided to say nothing further in response. Instead, she entered cautiously. In her hand was an envelope.

"This was delivered today. It's for you, Sherlock. But there's no return address on it" she explained, holding the letter out to him.  
Looking curiously at the envelope, he took it and inspected it closely.

It was an ordinary envelope that could probably be bought anywhere in London. There was no stamp and no return address. That should mean that it had been hand-delivered. Only his name, in slightly messy squiggles, was written on it. He looked further at the envelope and could also make out minor traces of a white powder. He sniffed it lightly and then brought a fingertip of the whitish powder to his mouth. Surprise and confusion flashed.

"Mrs. Hudson, do you have the letter from Mr. Chatterjee?" he then asked.

"Huh?" the older woman then asked, looking slightly confused.

But Sherlock just sighed and rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed. Slowly, he rose from his chair and then motioned toward his landlady.

"The envelope. There are residues of white powder visible. Powdered sugar to be more precise. It also smells faintly of coffee and baked goods. Which means it must have been in a coffee shop. It also has a faint whiff of a special spice used only in the café below. So no one other than an employee or the owner himself, could have had it in his hand. And since no one other than Mr. Chatterjee himself has yet approached them, I am right in assuming that they have this letter from him," Sherlock finally finished his remarks, grinning smugly at her.

But old Mrs. Hudson didn't reply anything but rolled her eyes.

"The only question is why?" he then asked, more to himself.

"Well, the only way to find out is to open it. Anyway, all he meant was that someone must have left the letter with him at the cafe."

Sherlock nodded slightly and then turned back to the letter. Using his knife, he opened it and unfolded the piece of paper. He let out an annoyed breath when he saw that words were written from small different snippets of letters.

Very imaginative," he thought to himself and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Then his gaze flew further and with wide open eyes he now stared at the paper. In big colorful letters it was written:

**YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS! I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR EVERYTHING!**

Immediately his thoughts shot to only one person.

Molly!

With slightly shaky fingers, he then reached for his phone and dialed her number.  
It rang once, it rang twice, and just as he was about to give it up, he heard a soft voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Molly! Are you okay?" he almost shouted into the receiver.

He heard nothing.

"MOLLY?!"

Then a quiet breath.  
"Sherlock, what's wrong? What time is it?" she asked. Her voice weak.

"It's almost eight"

"Okay, if it's only eight in the morning, then let me sleep some more. It was a --"

"No Molly! I meant eight in the evening" he interrupted her.

"WHAT!!! I've been asleep all day? I missed our meeting. Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I also don't know --"

"Molly. It's okay. I'm just glad nothing happened to you" he interrupted her again, trying to reassure her.

"What was supposed to have happened?" she then asked, slightly puzzled but still tired.

"Oh nothing. Just forget about it. Take care, Molly!" he finally ended the call without Molly being able to say or ask anything else.

With a relieved breath, he put his phone back on the table.

"Is everything all right, Sherlock?"

He stiffened his shoulders slightly as he heard the voice. He had completely forgotten that Mrs. Hudson was still in the room when he called Molly.

With a slight smile, he finally turned to the older lady.

"It's okay. I think I have a new case" he finally said, gently but firmly pushing her out the door.

* * *

It was now just under a week later after John and Mary's wedding when Molly first encountered Sherlock again. While her two friends were enjoying their honeymoon to the fullest, she threw herself back into work.

She felt a slight sense of shame and guilt when she first looked Sherlock in the eye again.  
Sherlock's eyes again. He wore an unreadable expression as he faced her but deep in his eyes she could see anger and disappointment.

"Hello Sherlock" she greeted him in a slightly shaky voice as he entered the morgue.

"Molly," he replied coolly. His gaze settled on the dead body laid out beneath them.

"So what do we have here?" he then asked.

Molly sighed heavily. She wondered if he would be mad at her somehow after all, after she stood him up. After all, he was acting so cold and distant toward her again. But she couldn't and wouldn't. There was something between her and Sherlock and she wasn't ready to just let this go.

"So, is that it now? Are we never going to talk about this again?" she asked, feeling a lump in her throat.

Sherlock didn`t answer. He knew what she was getting at and couldn`t find a clear answer.

"Sherlock, I already apologized to you. I really didn't mean to-"

She stopped in her sentence as a sudden dizziness overcame her. She felt everything blur around her and the sounds became more distant.

"Molly? Is everything okay?" asked Sherlock now with a slightly worried tone. His eyes fixed on her.

But Molly didn't answer. Her mouth felt dry. She felt her legs beginning to give way. With the last of her strength, she clung to the autopsy table. And then everything went black.

"MOLLY!"


	12. chapter 12

Sherlock had just been confronted by Molly about being so distant and dismissive since the day after the wedding when Molly suddenly lost her footing and her body collapsed.  
Quick-witted, he rushed around the post-mortem table and grabbed her with his strong arms to prevent her from hitting the hard tile floor.

Carefully, with Molly in his arms, he moved around the room and then gently placed her on one of the tables.

"Molly?" he whispered softly, stroking her cheek gently.

Slowly she opened her eyes and now looked into two, eyes filled with concern.

"Sherlock? What happened?" she asked, slightly dazed, then tried to sit up.

"You fainted suddenly," he said curtly. 

Molly nodded slowly and suddenly felt how close Sherlock was to her. Only a few inches separated their faces. Sherlock couldn't help but notice it either and immediately that strange warmth flowed through his body again. Briefly he thought about closing the distance between them and leaning forward, but a clearing of Molly's throat interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to the present.

"Why am I actually lying on one of the post-mortem tables?" asked Molly then, looking down.

"Well, I wanted to stabilise your circulation and it seemed more comfortable for you than lying on the cold tile floor" he replied, now putting a little more distance between them again.

"How are you feeling? Maybe you should see a doctor?" he asked then, turning his worried eyes on her again.

But Molly just shook her head slightly and then slowly swung her legs across the table. 

"I'm fine. I don't need a doctor. I probably just haven't had enough to drink today" she tried to reassure him and put on a slight smile.

"I'm sure if I eat and drink something right now, I'll be fine. Don't worry about it" she continued when she noticed his sceptical look on her.

But Sherlock didn't believe her and continued to look at her urgently with slightly narrowed eyes. He knew something was wrong and she was hiding something from him.  
Instead of pressing further, however, he nodded curtly.

"Do that" he merely urged her as he further increased the distance between them and headed for the door. Just before he could reach it, however, he heard Molly call out to him once more.

"Sherlock?"

He didn't turn around and waited anxiously for her next words.

"Why did you ask me to come to you at Baker Street, anyway?"

He raised his head slightly and with a glance over his shoulder he smiled slightly at her.

"Goodbye, Molly!" was all he said and then disappeared out the door.

On his way back to Baker Street, he thought about what had happened a few minutes earlier. He couldn't help but think that much more than neglected basic needs was to blame for her condition. He thought again about the phone call a week ago. Molly sounded strangely weak and exhausted. She had never missed a date with her friends before, especially not because she had slept all day. And he didn't hear or see anything from her in the next few days after that either. Molly had never been sick. And if she was, she never put her work on the back burner because of it. Even with a cold she dragged herself to work. Never, in all the years he had known her, had she ever missed a day. There was something strange about the whole thing and about her condition too. 

Then that mysterious message came back to him.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"

'Who was this mysterious sender and what did he mean? What was he going to pay for?  
And would he hear from him again?' Sherlock thought to himself as he covered the last few yards to his destination.

He was just stepping up to his door when it was swung open.  
Mrs Hudson looked slightly distraught and looked at him anxiously.

"Oh Sherlock. I'm glad you're here. Here's another one for you" she said and handed him another envelope with slightly shaky hands.

He almost snatched it from her hands and opened it quickly. Then he unfolded the sheet and there it was. Another message. Only this time it wasn't made up of various snippets of letters. There on the white sheet of paper, in a slightly illegible script, like on the letterhead, were two simple words, but they made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up.

**IT BEGINS!**


	13. chapter 13

In the days that followed, Sherlock tried to find out more and more about the mysterious sender. He turned the paper over and over, examined it with a black light for hidden messages or analysed the paper's texture in the laboratory. He looked for fingerprints, DNA traces or anything else that could bring him closer to the mysterious sender.   
But there was nothing to be found. This mysterious letter writer clearly knew what to look for and kept himself well undercover. 

Sherlock was beginning not to know what else to try or analyse. He didn't know what he was dealing with and that bothered him immensely. Not knowing unsettled him. And the thought that (not if) something bad would happen, only more so. Again and again he wondered what the mysterious messages were all about. He rummaged through his memories and his old cases to find any clue as to what they would want him to pay for.   
Sure, he had put many criminals in prison over the years, but they were mostly loners or their relatives didn't have the know-how to pull something like this off. In his opinion, they were simply too stupid not to get caught. So it had to be someone who knew how to do it. The only one who wanted to destroy him was Moriarty, but he had been taking care of that and his criminal network for the last two years. And Moriarty himself was dead. So it couldn't be him.  
His thoughts then turned to a certain woman. _The woman_ , to be more precise. Was it Irene Adler, who was now out for revenge? He had foiled her plan then and delivered her to Mycroft. However, he had also saved her from certain death. And besides, she would not stoop to such trivial methods.   
So it had to be someone he had not suspected so far. Someone who had kept in the background until now. 

His thoughts were interrupted when suddenly the laboratory door swung open and a small figure, pale-faced, entered.

"And Sherlock? Have you made any progress?" asked Molly as she slowly made her way in his direction.

"No nothing! No fingerprints, no fibre residue or traces of any substance. Just nothing!" he growled in exasperation.

Then he turned to her and looked at her more closely for the first time in several days. Her skin was pale, her eyes looked tired. Dark spots stood out under her eyes. She looked limp and exhausted. But as always, she wore her characteristic friendly smile on her face, which was meant to distract from her condition.

"Are you all right? You look pale. Even paler than usual?" he then asked.

"That's a nice description" she replied in a sarcastic tone, rolling her eyes.

"No, I didn't mean --"

"It's fine. And yes I'm fine. I've just been feeling so incredibly tired lately" she interrupted him holding up a hand.  
Under his sceptical gaze, she finally turned to the paper in front of her and took it in her hands. Sherlock eyed her actions critically. Her gaze continued to fall on the envelope and remained there for several minutes.   
Startled, she turned her head and looked wide-eyed at the person in front of her.

"I think I know this writing" she then said.

Sherlock immediately straightened up in his chair, took the envelope from her and stared likewise at his name written there in slightly illegible script.

"So, whose is it Molly's?" he asked hopefully.

But before Molly could say anything, the door swung open again and a tall young man stepped in. They both looked towards the door, startled. Sherlock sighed heavily, knowing that the moment had now passed.

"Hello Molly. Are you ready?" the man then asked as he entered the room. His eyes fixed on the two of them.

"Oh, Tom. Is it that late?" she then asked, glancing at her watch.   
"I'll be right there." she said hesitantly, but made no move.

Sherlock also noticed her sudden tension and sensed that Molly did not want to leave. She knew something but something or someone was stopping her from telling. 

"Molly? We really have to go now" sounded impatiently from the direction of the door.

Molly woke from her trance and turned away from Sherlock. Just as she turned to leave the lab, Sherlock grabbed her wrist. Slightly confused, she looked first at the hand around her joint and then at his face. His expression was unreadable but the grip tightened. 

"Any important plans for tonight?" he asked then, looking at her urgently.

Molly swallowed hard, suddenly at a loss for words. Her whole body tingled under his touch and a slight warmth shot into her cheeks.

"We're meeting my parents for dinner and then we're going out for drinks with some friends afterwards." it replied again from the direction of the door.

Sherlock didn't even take his eyes off Mollys' the whole time Tom was talking. Then he slowly loosened his grip on her wrist and finally let her go.

"Have fun then," he said coldly, turning his gaze back to the microscope in front of him.

He heard the two of them slowly make their way out of the room and the door slam shut. Then he exhaled heavily.  
Just as he was about to ask what was wrong with Molly and why she was suddenly so tense when Tom entered the room, the door swung open again.  
Molly came running to him with quick steps and leaned forward slightly.

"If you want to know who wrote that letter, come to the bar tonight where we celebrated John and Mary's engagement" she whispered softly.

And as quickly as she had come, she was gone.

And Sherlock was sure that today, thanks to Molly, he was one step closer to unmasking the mysterious sender. 


	14. chapter 14

Around 9 p.m., Sherlock finally arrived at the bar Molly had spoken of, and as it turned out, some of the hospital staff and Greg were in attendance. Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes when he saw the Detective Inspector sitting in front of him. And the DI looked slightly taken aback as well.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here? Are you lost or is some case driving you here?" he then asked, looking at him with curious eyes.

"No, Detective Inspector. To be honest, Molly invited me" he replied coolly, literally spitting out the words Detective Inspector.

Greg just nodded knowingly and then turned to his beer in front of him. Sherlock felt all the eyes at the table on him once again. But he didn't care. What mattered was Molly and that she would tell him who was behind the news. 

Molly also seemed to sense this curiosity for a certain detective and how the mood at the table was starting to change. So, to be polite and as she had been taught, she decided to introduce Sherlock to everyone. Sherlock himself had no great interest in knowing the names of everyone present, but for Molly's sake he let the introductions slide. It was in her nature to be friendly and polite. But what surprised him a bit was when Molly introduced a particular person and her facial expression changed.

"And this is CARTER, he's been working down at the morgue for a while now, helping me with my autopsies."

Sherlock knew something was off about this Carter. Was he this mysterious letter writer?

Molly finished the round of introductions and then turned back to her colleagues. Not without glancing again at Sherlock to see if he understood. He nodded only slightly and then turned his attention to this Carter. Contrary to his nature, he joined in the conversations of those present with feigned interest. He chatted at length with Molly's colleagues, meanwhile learning about his time in the U.S. or how he and Tom met. Sherlock was actually heartily uninterested in his life but he was eager to find out if this Carter was behind these messages and continued to feign curiosity.

The evening wore on and Sherlock had been listening to Molly's colleagues for hours. So far he couldn't see or hear anything unusual about him, but there had to be something and Sherlock was sure he had to find out as soon as possible. His opportunity came when Carter excused himself and headed for the restroom.

Sherlock followed him at a short distance and then waited on the door in front of him. As he waited there like that, he remembered the last time he had been here. It was the same hallway where Sherlock and Molly stood leaning against the wall, smooching wildly. The same hallway where Sherlock felt that Molly was so much more to him and that he wanted her. Just her. A slight smile played around the corners of his mouth as he thought about it and the places where Molly touched him tingled.   
The feeling and smile disappeared, however, when Carter stepped back out the door. Without thinking about it, he grabbed him by the collar and shoved him hard against the wall.  
"Whoah, buddy. What's gotten into you?" asked Carter, slightly confused and with a hint of fear in his voice.

"I know those messages are from you. So what do you want?" growled Sherlock back at him.

"What messages? I've only known you since tonight. So why would I write you any letters?" 

Sherlock tightened his grip and Carter whimpered slightly at the pressure around his neck.

"Interesting. I don't think I told you they were letters. So what do you want?"

Carter knew he was busted, but decided not to act on it.

"You're out of your mind! I don't want anything from you and now let me go!" he growled now as well.

But Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, he just grabbed him tighter and now lifted him slightly off the ground by his collar. In front of him stood the author of these messages, he knew that. He just had to get him to talk.

"So, I'm going to ask you one more time. What do you want?"

Carter whimpered and squirmed under his grip. So slowly he seemed to sense that there was no escape and his air was running out. If he didn't do something quickly, he was going to die here.

"Okay, okay, okay," he then whimpered and raised his hands in surrender.

"I wrote the letters but I had to do it".  
Gradually it dawned on Sherlock and he slowly set him back down on the floor. His grip on Carter's collar, however, he still maintained.

"You should know you're being watched" he whispered softly now, leaning forward a little.

"Aaargh! I know that too. So who's your employer?" growled Sherlock, looking at him with a slightly menacing look.

But before Carter could speak, they were interrupted by an approaching voice at the front of the hallway. 

"Hey Carter! Where you at, man?" 

It was another colleague from the hospital. He slowly approached the two and then put a hand on his friend's shoulder to lead him back into the guest room.

"Come on. We want to move on." the man said.  
" I'll...I'll be right there," Carter stammered lightly as he saw the penetrating look on Sherlock's face. Then he turned slowly and followed his friend back. Sherlock stopped him as he also placed a hand on his shoulder.

"This isn't over yet" he then said and subsequently released his shoulder.

Back in the guest room, he noticed that everyone was already slowly getting ready to leave the bar. Only Greg was still sitting at the table, sipping his beer.   
Sherlock was also getting ready to leave the pub when a gentle touch on his arm stopped him.

"Is everything okay?" asked Molly, slightly nervous.

"I have to go now" he replied emotionlessly, releasing himself from her grip.

Without saying goodbye, he stormed out of the diner. Out into the cold and dark night.   
In his head only one question: 

_Who is it?_


	15. chapter 15

Sherlock knew that he couldn't do anything more today, so he decided to make up for the missed sleep of the last few days. It wasn't long before he fell into a deep sleep.   
He dreamed of Molly. Of her encounters and her touch. He dreamed of that night of the wedding and felt strangely content. Then, quite suddenly, the dream changed and he found himself in the lab with Molly. Molly was standing next to Sherlock, looking exhausted. Her face was ashen and her eyes were empty. Her smile had disappeared. She leaned toward Sherlock, tears and fear filling her eyes. Over and over she repeated just one sentence:   
"Wake up, Sherlock. You have to wake up!"   
Sherlock didn't know what Molly meant and kept asking. But Molly just kept asking him to wake up. Then slowly she moved away from him. It seemed as if she was dissolving. And before she disappeared completely, she yelled to him one more time, "You have to wake up!"   
Then everything was dark and Sherlock found himself alone surrounded by an eerie blackness.

This was the moment that startled Sherlock out of his sleep. Slightly alarmed, he rubbed his hands over his face. Then his eyes fell on the phone on his nightstand and he noticed a voicemail message that had come in.

He opened the message and could immediately see that Lestrade had been trying to reach him. A glance at the time showed that the message had arrived just under half an hour ago. 

"Sherlock? Lestrade here. There's been a body and I think you should see that. Meet me at Bart's."

Slightly puzzled by the DI's voicemail and why he hadn't heard it, Sherlock finally got out of bed, threw on his clothes, and made his way in short order to the place where the DI would be waiting for him.

He had trouble arriving quickly at said place. It was Friday night and most people were on their way home from a night of partying. So it was all the more difficult for Sherlock to make his way back by cab.  
After another half hour, he finally arrived and immediately made his way to the morgue.

Lestrade was already waiting impatiently for the consulting detective.   
As soon as Sherlock approached him, he immediately began to narrate.

"It was a group of young women and men. They were partying in this club when suddenly one of them collapsed. The other guests said he had suddenly complained of severe drowsiness and exhaustion. There was also talk of nausea. Molly was conducting the final stages of the post-mortem. She said that there were remains of vomit in the throat "

"Probably alcohol poisoning, overdose or death by asphyxiation" Sherlock replied emotionlessly.

Then he turned to the DI, annoyed.

"Lestrade, why are you calling me out in the middle of the night for a body that was obviously just over the limit for alcohol consumption? Is Scotland Yard really that stupid already now that -- "

Greg sighed heavily at the CD's words and immediately interrupted him.

"It's Carter. Molly's colleague."

Eyes wide, Sherlock now stared at the DI, and then it occurred to him. Carter had been murdered. He was going to tell Sherlock the name of his client and the client knew about it. Had he perhaps even been watching them? So Carter had to be taken out of the way before he could make another mistake.

"So it was murder," he said tersely.

"That's what I'm assuming, and Sherlock, I know you talked to him at some length last night. And I wonder why?"

"What, are you now suspecting me of having something to do with the murder?" hissed Sherlock, meanwhile pulling on his disposable gloves.

Greg raised his hands placatingly.

"Look, I don't have that much time right now. I need to get back to the Yard but I think there's more to this and you know something"

Sherlock twitched the corners of his mouth slightly. He was surprised Greg could make a connection so quickly.

"Goodbye Detective Inspector" was all he said and before Greg could say anything he was already swinging open the door to the morgue and stepping inside.

Molly was finishing the last cut and didn't see him. At the sight of her, pale and exhausted, he immediately thought back to his dream. Carefully, he approached the table and could now see that her face was shining. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Sherlock knew that he would have to be gentle somehow. After all, Molly had just performed an autopsy on one of her colleagues and presumably friend.

"Hello, Molly."  
He felt her tense under his words. She raised her head, put on a feigned smile, and then explained to him individual findings of the autopsy.  
As it turned out, Carter died of multiple organ failure. Death by asphyxiation could thus be ruled out, since this occurred postmortem, after the fall on the hard floor. She further explained that the blood and stomach samples taken were already being examined in the laboratory and the results would be known in the next few minutes. 

Sherlock nodded only briefly and then turned his gaze to the dead body beneath him. He was also pale, almost like Molly. His face, as well as body, was severely sunken. He looked like a very different person from the night before when Sherlock met him. So it must have happened in the following hours and that confirmed his hypothesis that they had been watched.   
Still he wondered who was behind it all and what Carter had to do with it.

A ringing from Molly's phone startled him out of his thoughts.  
Curious, he looked up, waiting to see what results they had come to.

"The results are in. I'm going to go get them for a minute. I'll be right back" she said and made her way out.

Sherlock waited anxiously for Molly to return with the results. Perhaps the way he was killed would shed light on the person who was supposed to be behind it all?  
Restlessly, he shifted back and forth on his feet. But when Molly still didn't return after 20 minutes, he also set out to look for her.

Sherlock didn't have to look long and found Molly lying motionless on the floor a few yards from the morgue.   
He quickly rushed to her body, embraced her face, gently shook her shoulders, and kept asking her to wake up. He checked her breathing and felt her chest rise and fall slightly. Relief spread through her. Again he tried to shake her awake. 

But nothing happened. 


	16. chapter 16

The days passed and Molly's condition hardly changed. It was now the 10th day since Molly first showed signs and she seemed to get worse with each passing day.   
The doctors were all acting strangely and Sherlock could not explain it. He also got nowhere with his investigation into the cause of Carter's death. He put his brother on it, in the departments to investigate but so far without success.

John and Mary were also back from their honeymoon and visited Molly regularly in the hospital as soon as they heard.  
Sherlock also stopped by from time to time to make sure she was still alive.  
He just couldn't make sense of what her condition was all about. But he knew one thing. There had to be a connection with the letters and Molly's condition.

"So Sherlock, tell me about this secret letter writer? In the meantime, have you figured out who's behind it?

John had been back for 3 days and today he visited Baker Street and his friend again for a long time.

"NO! And that drives me crazy. I've tried everything, tested everything. Took the paper apart. Even asked Mycroft for help but NOTHING! The only one who could have really told me anything was that Carter guy but he's dead!" growled Sherlock, slightly exasperated.

"Okay. It's just an idea and you may not approve of it, but maybe you should go to Scotland Yard with it. Maybe Greg or something can help" John suggested.

"Pfff, how are they going to be able to help me? They can't even solve a case without my help" Sherlock arrogantly replied.

John made an annoyed sound.

"Sherlock!" he admonished loudly.

The latter winced slightly at his tone in response.

"John, I know... but this is literally a matter of life and death! And I'm not going to wait until Scotland Yard gets its head out of its ass and starts working!"

"What do you mean it's a matter of life and death?" asked John, curious and slightly confused.

"I think the letters and Molly's condition are related" he then calmly explained and let out a small sigh.

"Oh, okay. Can I see the letters?" asked John then.

Sherlock replied with a pointing hand gesture towards the desk, showing him where to find them.

John picked them up and took a quick look over them. Every now and then he asked a few questions.

"Do you have any idea what he wants you to pay for?"  
Sherlock shook his head.

"I have no idea. It could be anything. You know Scotland Yard almost tripled its crime-solving rate thanks to me. But I've gone through all my cases and just couldn't find a clue to anyone who might want to take revenge on me, or who might have the skills to do so."

John rolled his eyes slightly in annoyance at his friend's statement about Scotland Yard, but then nodded. He then continued to flip through the letters and at one he suddenly stopped and frowned in confusion. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

**I WILL TAKE AWAY WHAT YOU LOVE THE MOST!**

"And you think these letters and Molly's sudden illness are connected?"

"Huh?" asked Sherlock, straightening his head. His hands, meanwhile, supported his head at his sides.

"I already told you that! Why are you asking that now?" he retorted, annoyed.

"So this secret letter writer has administered or done anything to Molly" John then stated to himself.

"Yes, he did and I've already told you that too. So what's your point?" he asked still annoyed.

"Okay, so let me recap. You've been receiving mysterious messages from SOMEONE threatening to make you pay for anything and take away what you love. In the same breath, Molly suddenly fell ill and her condition continues to deteriorate. And your guess is that the two are somehow connected. If you ask me, that's a pretty strange connection."

John grinned slightly.

"JOHN! What are you getting at?!" shouted Sherlock, standing up jerkily from his chair and then standing next to his friend.

At this, John just frowned even more. Sometimes his friend could be quite slow on the uptake, he just thought to himself and shook his head, slightly amused.

"Sherlock, this last message." he said, then held the letter up to his face.

When he offered nothing in return, John heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Sherlock! You love Molly!" he cried out in surprise and almost euphoria.  
Sherlock then stared at him with wide eyes. A slight blush crept onto his cheeks and he quickly turned his head so his friend wouldn't see.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I'm sure it isn't!" he said gruffly, moving away from him to take a seat on the opposite couch.

John noticed Sherlock's sudden change in demeanor and also his nervousness. A small grin crept across his lips.

"You didn't really deny it. So it's true. You're in love with Molly and the mysterious letter writer knows about it" John said still grinning.

Sherlock stared at his counterpart, wishing his friend could wipe that silly grin off his face. Of course, it hadn't taken John long to figure it out. How could he? He was his best friend and simply knew Sherlock better than he knew himself in some things. And yes, it was true. Sherlock was in love with Molly and had been for a long time. He only really realized it during the years he was away. That he could not say goodbye to her pained him greatly. From day to day his thoughts turned to Molly and with them his feelings for her grew. And when he could finally see her again, he felt it. With every smile, with every touch, and with every kiss, he gave her another piece of his heart. The letter writer must have realized this as well and wanted to see Sherlock suffer with it. Sherlock had taken something he loved from him and he was doing the same to him now. Guilt spread through him. The thought of something happening to Molly, and because of him, plagued him heavily. And maybe, just maybe, he should talk to his friend about his feelings.

"Sherlock?" asked John, when he hadn't heard from his friend in several minutes.

The latter exhaled deeply once and sat up straight. Then he turned his gaze to John.  
Quietly he began to speak.

"It's...it's...true." he stammered slightly.  
"I have feelings for Molly, and the thought of that son of a bitch doing anything to her because of me is killing me!"

Briefly, John had to grin again. He had to bite his lips to keep from saying, "I knew it!"   
John just knew it and had always known it. But his smile quickly disappeared when he heard that Molly was in danger. He had so many questions but time was of the essence. John could ask Sherlock about his feelings even after they solved the case.

"Okay and what are you going to do now? If it's really related to Molly, it would have to be someone who knows you and her, right?"

"I've come up with that idea myself. I've been lighting up everyone in my immediate circle and hers but nothing. I just can't figure out who would be behind this and why now."  
"Okay. So maybe we should start over. What have you found out about these people so far?"

Sherlock then explained to John all the information he had gathered about each person in Molly's and his entourage.  
After he finished his explanation, a stifling silence fell.  
Both seemed to be deep in thought.   
They were interrupted when suddenly John's phone rang.

It was Mary. She sounded excited.

"John?! Can you come to the hospital. It's about Molly. And bring Sherlock!" she explained calmly with a slightly nervous undertone.

He assured her that they were on their way immediately before hanging up and then turning to his friend. There was wonderment but also concern in his eyes.

"They want us to come to the hospital. It's about Molly."

Immediately Sherlock rose from his seat and took his scarf and coat from the coat rack. Panic spread through him.

_`Hopefully it wasn't too late'_


	17. chapter 17

It didn't take long for John and Sherlock to storm through the corridors of the ward where Molly was lying.  
In no time at all they reached Molly's room.  
Molly was lying in her bed like the days before. She looked exhausted but this time there was something else. Her eyes were glistening from the tears she was trying so desperately to hold back.  
Mary stood at the side of her bed and looked anxiously at the two men entering. Even though Sherlock disregarded the feelings of others now and then, he still sensed that something was wrong.

"John, Sherlock? What are you doing here?" asked Molly in surprise, looking back and forth between the two.

But before either of them could say anything, Mary was already speaking.

"I called her, Molly."

Molly sighed heavily and stroked her hair with shaky hands.  
"Mary, no! Why did you do that!" 

"Sorry Molly but I think they should know too and most importantly they can help"

"Find out what?" asked John now with a questioning look.

She put on a small smile, probably to reassure him. Then her gaze roamed further around the room and stopped at Sherlock. His expression was unreadable but inside he sensed equal concern, panic and fear.   
Molly quickly released her gaze from him, tried to straighten up a little and then began to tell him.

"It's nothing more. The doctors have finished their tests and Mary thought it was something serious as I was...well let's just say...a bit tense..." 

"Pff, something is good" Mary muttered to herself.

"Well?" now asked Sherlock from across the room.

Molly avoided his and the others' gaze and stared at her hands. Slightly nervously she fiddled with the sheet of her blanket.   
Then quietly she began to speak again.

"They've found out what's wrong with me. But it's nothing. They'll treat it and I'll be out of here in a few days"

"Molly!" warned Mary.

John and Sherlock too looked at her with wide eyes and then at Molly. Something seemed to be hiding Molly.  
But Molly did not answer.

Mary heaved a deep sigh and rubbed her hand over her face.

"Okay, if you don't tell them, I will," Mary then told her forcefully.

"Molly, what are you not telling us?" asked John now. His tone was demanding.

"Nothing. It's just that I don't want to burden you with it"

"Molly. We're your friends. No matter what, we're here for you and we'll get through this" John then explained in a soothing tone and lightly squeezed her hand. Sherlock, meanwhile, remained quiet the whole time, watching the whole scenario in front of him closely.

"I appreciate it very much and I am grateful for your support..."

"But?"

Sherlock continued to watch Molly. Every now and then she would cast a quick glance in his direction. There was fear in her eyes and she was nervous. Even more nervous than usual. 

'What did Molly have to hide, what didn't she want to say?` he then asked himself and slowly moved to the end of her bed and took her file in his hand. He skimmed the most important data. And all at once he realised where that fear in her eyes came from.

"Molly hasn't been completely honest with us about her condition. In addition to her fainting spells, she continued to complain of vomiting and temporary onset of paralysis. She was also found to have increasing dysfunction of her liver and kidneys. Her symptoms were all caused by ---" he then explained in a monotone.

"Sherlock! No! Stop it, please!" Molly interrupted him frantically.

"By what? Sherlock?" John then asked anxiously.

Sherlock glanced briefly at Molly to make sure he was allowed to continue but her gaze avoided his. The tears she had been trying so desperately to hold back were now slowly making their way down her face.

"Molly? Sherlock?! What's going on?" 

The latter swallowed hard, then closed the file and put it back. Slowly he moved away from her bed but not without giving her another worried look.

"Sherlock?! Don't you dare leave now!" shouted John, stopping him at the door.

"I was right in my suspicions. Molly was the victim of a crime. She was poisoned!" he explained briefly. 

"What?" asked John, stunned.

"If she really was poisoned, then we have to tell Greg and --"

"John! There's no need to do that. I'm getting better already, aren't I? The doctors did a good job," Molly stopped him.

"But Molly, this is a crime. Someone tried to kill you and will certainly keep trying"

"I'm under 24-hour guard here. And now that I know, I will be more careful. I promise"

An uncomfortable silence spread. Everyone seemed to be caught up in their own thoughts. It was silent for minutes. John was the first to break this stifling silence.

"The secret letter writer! He must be behind this!" John yelled and turned to Sherlock.

Both Mary and Molly looked up in surprise.

"What do you mean by that? Why would he target Molly?" asked Mary then.

John had told his wife that Sherlock had been receiving mysterious messages for several days, but he hadn't told her about the last letter and his suspicions about it.

"In the one letter stood---" he began but Sherlock stopped him in a harsh tone.

"JOHN!"

"I'll take care of it. No need to drag others into it!" he retorted and turned on his heel.

After locking the door behind him, he almost ran out across the corridors of the hospital towards the exit. He just couldn't stay there any longer. He had to get out. His thoughts turned to Molly and the threats he had received.

`So it is really happening. I'm going to lose the person I love. He's making good on his threats.` 

Then he remembered what he had read and also the information he withheld from John and Mary. Her symptoms are all signs of poisoning, caused by thallium (also used as a chemical weapon). And it is possible that this was administered to her on the day of the wedding. In the meantime, 10 days have passed and if Sherlock remembered correctly, the poison would take full effect after 13 days. There is no known antidote. If detected early, all that can be done is to combat the symptoms and damage. Even though Molly was feeling a little better, she was not out of danger yet. The perpetrator could administer something to her again at any time without being noticed. That meant he had to find out who it was as soon as possible and stop them.

Sherlock's chest constricted and he felt a thick lump in his throat that took away his breath. As quickly as he could, he made his way back to Baker Street. He simply had to find this mysterious letter writer. Because only then could he save Molly's life.

Determined to find this stranger, he walked the rest of the way and was at his door just a few minutes later. He opened the door, took a step and immediately stepped on a small envelope. Without looking at it closely, he knew immediately who it was from. Carefully he picked it up and felt that it was heavier than usual. Gripped by curiosity, he opened it and revealed a small pocket watch. It was one of the usual pocket watches. It was a little older and worn. On the back was written a dedication:

_"R.H.-the best dad in the world. Love, your son."_

`Why would he send me these?" asked Sherlock inwardly.

Then he wondered if the initials would tell him anything, but his thoughts always seemed to return to one person. Wildly, he shook his head. He just had to focus. Then he turned his eyes back to the watch in his hand. But when he couldn't find anything else, he examined the envelope further. At the bottom, was a small note. 

**TICK TACK. TIME IS RUNNING OUT!**

`So it wasn't over yet. And now that the doctors could figure out what was wrong with her, an even bigger bull's-eye adorned her back' 

The letter writer would not give up until she was finally dead. Time was of the essence. 

Immediately Sherlock set to work. In his makeshift lab, he first took a closer look at the pocket watch, picking it apart into its component parts. He examined it for fingerprints, skin particles or other substances. But as with the letters before, he could not come up with a result.  
Frustrated, he dropped onto the couch. Again and again he went over the past days and the information he had been able to gather. 

At some point, however, a strange tiredness overcame him and before he knew it he was asleep and dreaming. 

  
This time he found himself on the evening of the wedding. Leaning against the wall with Molly. He dreamt of their kiss together. Then he leaned his forehead against hers and breathed in her scent. Softly he breathed her name and looked deep into her eyes.  
Molly returned his gaze before slowly turning away from him.  
"I have to go now" she said then.  
Sherlock urged her not to, but she only replied, "I have to. Tom and I are invited to a Robert's birthday party tomorrow and we have to leave very early"  
Then slowly she moved further away from him but Sherlock stopped her by her wrist."Don't leave me, Molly."  
With a slight smile on her lips, she came back to him and gently stroked his cheek with her hand.  
"I'm not going to leave you. Ever. I'm always here for you, waiting for you. You just need to wake up!"  
And then Molly was gone.

Just like the first time, Sherlock was startled out of his sleep but this time it dawned on him. In his dream, Molly had mentioned something about a Robert. Could it be that the initials on the clock and the Robert from the dream were the same person? And could it be that Tom could be behind all this? he continued to think.

There was only one way to find out. For that, he just had to jump over his shadow and ask a certain person for help. Sighing slightly, he then reached for his phone and dialled the number.  
It didn't take long before the other end picked up.  
He dispensed with the usual greeting and immediately began to tell the story.

"Lestrade, run Tom through the database. I need all the information on him. Starting with his family and relatives. It's urgent"

"Tom? You mean Molly's Tom? Will you tell me what this is all about? What about Tom?"

Sherlock sighed. While asking him again to look up his name in the Yard's system, he briefly explained the situation. The secret letters and Molly's condition. He said nothing of his dream, however. Briefly he thought that he would have to expect reproaches from the DI but nothing came except a loud sigh.   
After he had finished his story, Lestrade explained the available information.  
Tom was adopted by an Anderson family at an early age and was a regular clean boy. No criminal record, no parking tickets or minor offences.  
Not once had he run a damn stop sign. Sherlock was about to give up and end the call until Lestrade mentioned a certain and familiar name. And now it all fitted together. The letters, the threats, the pocket watch and the dream.

He ended the call, quickly put on his coat and scarf and then stormed out the door.


	18. chapter 18

A short time later, Sherlock found himself back at the station he had become familiar with. With hurried steps he went towards the door.  
He was about to open it when it was suddenly pushed open and the man he so desperately needed to find stood before him.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Holmes. Are you here to see Molly? You must know it's inconvenient just now. She's resting." the man said, glancing back.

Sherlock followed his gaze and saw Molly lying in her bed, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. Then he turned his eyes back to the man in front of him. There was anger in his eyes.

"But you know, I wanted to talk to you anyway. Fancy a coffee?" he said then and as he said it he flanked the detective.

"Are you coming?" he asked again, after leading the way by a few metres.

And a short time later they found themselves in the hospital canteen. It was relatively empty and so they both quickly found a suitable place to talk. With two mugs of hot coffee in his hand, Tom joined them back at the table. Calmly sitting down in his chair, he put his mug down for Sherlock and took a sip of his hot drink.

"I know you're behind all this. It's over, Tom Anderson. Or should I say Tom Harrison?" 

Said man put on a surprised face. Then the expression on his face changed to something ugly. A malicious grin on his lips.

"So, you've finally figured it out. I was wondering when the time would come. Did you like my little gift?"

Sherlock couldn't help but put on an angry face. Disgust came over Sherlock when he saw his defiant grin. This man was not who he pretended to be and worst of all, he was toying with Molly and her life just to get back at him. He would love to smack that disgusting grin off his face but he knew he had to be calm and smart about it. 

Sherlock did not respond to his last question.  
"I must say you played really well but it's over now" Sherlock then replied.

Tom just shrugged boredly.

"Hmm...tell me Mr. Holmes. What did you find out? I'd like a little taste of your talent. Tell me my story."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. 

"You are not a born Englishman. You were born in the United States. In Washington to be precise. Your father was Robert Harrison. Their mother died giving birth to them. You were adopted by an Anderson family from York and grew up in England ever since. But over time, you sought contact with your biological father. They were able to settle their differences because they lived with their father in the USA for some time when they were teenagers. But anyway. Their father was employed by a large chemical company but he also led a double life as a drug lord. On top of that, he acted as a mole and was part of Moriarty's criminal network. What I've been destroying piece by piece over the last two years. That's probably how you knew I was alive and faked my death. And now they're out for revenge because their father was turned in by me and is now serving his life sentence in a federal prison."

Sherlock finished his remarks and folded his arms in front of his chest.

The man across from him stiffened and anger tugged at his face. 

"You're good. Really, you are. It's true. I have an American citizenship. But I didn't live there long. My father blamed me for my mother's death and gave me up for adoption. The Andersons, a really loving and childless family, ended up adopting me. Despite this, I never stopped loving my father and wanted to see him again. I sought contact with my father when I was 14 and some time later I moved back in with him. You have to know, my adoptive parents were quite busy people and spent most of my life travelling for business. I was brought up by my nanny and the maids. However, after I found my father again, the Andersons and my father came to an agreement. Until I turned 21, I lived with my father. I think they just felt guilty about always leaving me alone for so long. I graduated from high school and college.   
When I grew up, I moved back to England to take over my adoptive father's family business. I continued to keep in touch with my father and at one point I had to learn that he had been arrested and taken to federal prison."

He paused for a moment.

"But my father is no longer in federal prison. He was killed! In there by the inmates, murdered in cold blood. I loved my father. After I lost my mother, he was everything to me. Even though he gave me away and I love the Andersons just as much, I never stopped loving him. In the last few years I dealt a lot with his arrest and at some point I came across you. And that's how I knew you weren't dead.   
It's your fault my father's dead. You arranged for his arrest and thus sent him to certain death. And now they will pay for it!"

Now everything was falling into place. Sherlock had seen to it that his biological father was sent to prison and did not survive there. Tom blamed him for his death and now wanted revenge on him.

"That explains their desire for revenge but tell me this, why Molly? You could just as easily have chosen John, my family or me alone?"

"Oh, then where would be the fun?!" said Tom, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin on his face.

"As for Molly. I never wanted it to come to this. I really liked her. Hell, I even wanted to marry her.   
When I met Molly at a mutual friend's wedding, I didn't know about her past with you or her feelings for you at first. It was a harmless flirtation that developed. I started to develop serious feelings for her and thought that maybe Molly would be the one to help me forget about my feelings of revenge. But then you showed up and with you, Molly's repressed feelings.   
And then I saw the two of you at the bar and on the night of the wedding. And I realized one thing. You like Molly a lot. I'd even go so far as to say you're in love with her. I knew if you told her about it, she'd leave me. And if I can't have Molly, no one shall! With these thoughts of that, my desire for revenge rose again. So I had to do something. I wanted you to suffer. I wanted you to experience the exact loss I had. I wanted you to know how it feels to lose a loved one."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he swallowed hard. Tom knew about his feelings for Molly and he was right. Sherlock was in love with her and he hated himself for letting himself go like that in her presence and thus putting Molly in the crosshairs. All his life he managed to shut himself off from love and feelings. But Molly managed to slowly bring down his wall around his heart. Even if she didn't know it, she had touched him deeply. And now she was going to pay for it with her life? 

"Do you know how easy it actually is to make thallium and other poisons?" asked Tom.

Sherlock's gaze shot up.

"Rat poison," Sherlock replied curtly.

Tom grinned smugly.

"That's right. And when you have a father, like me, who knows about the chemical composition and filtering of these substances, it's a piece of cake. I administered a small amount of the neurotoxin to Molly every now and then in the beginning. I had to be careful. I didn't want to kill her right away."

"You know the doctors have identified the thallium in her body and the treatment is successful. Molly is already on the road to recovery. And whatever poison you give her, the doctors will find out. There's nothing more you can do" Sherlock replied to him.

"Right. Yes, right. You're right." began Tom quietly, bowing his head slightly.

Sherlock thought for a moment that he had defeated Tom and he was giving up on it but then he raised his head. The corners of his mouth turned upwards.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? Of course, I still have an ace up my sleeve. You know, if only you had come five minutes earlier, you might have been able to stop me. Of course, doctors and today's medicine can detect various poisons in the body but there is one poison that is barely if at all detectable in the body and is quickly fatal at the right dose. Can you guess which one I mean?"  
Then he leaned forward slightly and grinned arrogantly.

Eyes wide, Sherlock stared at his counterpart.

"Ricin." 

"That's right. And Oh, I think it's time" he then said looking at his watch.

"It's over, Sherlock Holmes. At this very moment Molly will take her last breaths and any life from her will be extinguished!   
It's a shame, really. I really liked you."

Sherlock had shock written all over his face.

"Molly," he whispered softly, looking towards the exit in horror.

He could no longer hear what Tom was saying. He quickly got up from his chair and ran as fast as he could in the direction he had come from. On the way to the room he knew, he hoped and prayed that he was not too late. 

"Please don't let it be too late. Please, please, please" he kept muttering to himself.

His heart was racing and literally jumping out of his chest.   
He reached her room after a few minutes and pushed the door open with all his might, causing it to crash against the wall behind it with a loud bang. Some people around him were startled by the sound and gave him disapproving looks. But he did not care. What mattered was Molly.

Then he saw a horde of doctors and nurses standing around Molly's bed. They looked briefly in his direction and then turned back to Molly. They were trying to save her life with all kinds of equipment. A nurse moved slowly towards Sherlock and calmly but firmly instructed him to wait outside the door.

Sherlock glanced briefly and anxiously in Molly's direction and then turned around.  
He waited for several minutes without anyone coming out. Again and again he heard muffled voices and calls from inside but nothing happened.  
With each minute he waited he only got more nervous and then all at once the door opened.   
The people Sherlock had seen earlier at Molly's bedside stepped out. All wore what Sherlock considered strange expressions. A doctor approached him slowly.  
His head lowered. 

"I'm sorry. We tried everything, but it was too late."

Sherlock stared at the man with wide open eyes. Shock was written all over his face.

Then he hurried past the man as quickly as he could, into the room and closed the door. With hesitant steps, he slowly approached her bed.  
He still hoped that he had simply misheard.

But it was too late.


	19. chapter 19

_Sherlock was finally able to uncover the identity of the mysterious letter writer. It was Tom Molly's ex-fiancé. In his years of absence, Sherlock had arranged for a certain Robert Harrison to be imprisoned. As it turned out, he was Tom's biological father and died in prison. Tom blamed him for it and was now out for revenge. He wanted to take from Sherlock what he loved most. And in this case, he meant Molly._  
_After Sherlock had learned from Tom that he had poisoned Molly with ricin, he made his way to Molly's room with quick steps. But when he got there, all he could see was that he was too late._

  
Sherlock stared at the now lifeless body before him. The devices that had previously signalled Molly's heartbeat were off. She lay still and motionless. No sign that there was any life left in her.   
A lump formed in his throat big enough to take his breath away. He felt his legs gradually threatening to give way under his weight. He could not breathe or move. He was paralysed.

Everything around him began to blur. The sounds that could be heard behind the door were muffled. Sherlock just stood there staring at Molly's lifeless body.   
Slowly, with wobbly legs, he finally moved towards her. Still he could not think clearly.  
He had come too late. Tom had won. He had taken away the person he loved the most. And Molly herself didn't even know about his feelings for her.   
He wanted to tell her, but then events came thick and fast. Bile rose up his throat.

Carefully, he pulled up a chair and took a seat. He just stared at her beautiful face for a while. Her soft skin, her hazel eyes that always seemed so warm and kind and her wonderfully soft lips. Her mouth that always sent a soothing warmth through Sherlock's body when she smiled. He had once thought he was too small but that was a lie. He was almost perfect. Then at some point, with shaky hands, he reached for her now cold hand and squeezed it gently.   
A single tear flowed down his cheek and he let it.

"Molly," he whispered softly.

Silence filled the room. Sherlock didn't know what to say. He knew, however, that no matter what he said or did, it would not bring his Molly back.

"I was late. I'm sorry. Forgive me for not being able to protect you" he then said eventually, lowering his head and resting his forehead against her hand.   
The tears were now flowing intermittently down his face. Sherlock felt the grief slowly eating him up from the inside. He had to give it vent or he was in danger of choking on it.

"Molly, I don't know how this happened." he finally began to say, taking a deep breath.

"There were still so many things I wanted to tell you. Starting with how I wanted to apologise to you for all those years of humiliation and rejection. I'm ashamed of the way I've treated you. But no matter what an ass I had been, you were always by my side. You've always supported me. You always counted and I always trusted you. I regretted not saying goodbye to you then. I didn't know if I would return and see your beautiful face and smile again. But the thought of you made me stronger and has stayed with me through all these years. I don't know much about feelings but what I do know is that I feel something for you. Damn it Molly, I love you. I've probably always loved you, just been too blind or stubborn to realise it. The day after the wedding, I was going to tell you. I was going to ask you to be with me. I wanted to build a life together with you and call you my wife. 

He paused for a moment and gently stroked her hair.

"But it's too late. I couldn't protect you and now I've lost you forever." he sobbed now.

He looked around the empty room for a moment. Then Sherlock slowly lay down in the bed beside her body and embraced her with his strong arms. His head rested on her shoulders as he did so. He felt the tension slowly fall away and his eyes grew heavy.

"Forgive me for not realising it sooner. I love you, Molly, and I always will," he whispered softly before falling into a deep sleep.


	20. chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all curious readers ;)
> 
> I hope you could forgive me for letting Molly die... However, I can tell you that there was a good reason for it and now you will find out in the last chapter of my story.  
> Have fun with it. And as always, I would appreciate any final comments or your thoughts on this ;)

_Sherlock had just found out that Molly was dead. Sadness and despair overwhelmed him at the sight of her dead body. He couldn't save her. He wanted to be close to her one more time and lay down next to her, wrapping her in his strong arms. But the stress and his emotional roller coaster ride of the past few weeks eventually caused Sherlock to fall asleep._

  
"Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up!" it suddenly cried, and someone gently shook his shoulder.

When he didn't move, the grip tightened.

"Wake up!"

And so slowly Sherlock opened his eyes and immediately looked into the worried eyes of his best friend. 

"Oh thank God!" cried John in relief, running his hand over his face.

Sherlock wondered at the delighted expression on his friend's face. After all, Molly was dead and John had lost a good friend. Then he glanced beside him. The bed was empty. Only Sherlock was lying on that bed.   
His gaze continued to roam the room.

"Molly," he whispered barely perceptibly, so that only he could hear.

"Where's Molly? How did they get her away so fast without me noticing?" he almost shouted, his question causing his best friend to look at him in irritation.

"We have to call Lestrade! He's got to arrest Tom. He's behind those mysterious messages and he killed Molly!" he continued to shout, almost panicking, and was about to move out of bed when a sharp pain stopped him.

John then frowned in confusion. With raised eyebrows, he slowly leaned forward and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"Take it easy, Sherlock. Nobody killed Molly. She's all right. She's at home. I asked her to get some rest since she spent the entire time at your bedside."  
Sherlock's eyes widened as he heard what his best friend had just told him. Molly wasn't dead. She was alive and she was spending her time here by his side. He hadn't lost her. It wasn't over yet.   
Only now did he slowly realize that the room had changed. He was still in the hospital but no longer in Molly's room and it was he himself who was lying in a hospital bed wearing only a hospital gown. Then he remembered certain scenes in his dream and that he kept being asked to wake up. 

`So that was it. A dream. It was all just a dream,' he then thought to himself.

Then he slowly turned his face to his friend, who looked at him slightly confused and worried.

"What happened?"

"You had an accident. Some drunk douchebag caught you with his car while you were on your way home from the wedding" John sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. His expression was a mixture of despair and relief.

"Your injuries were so severe that we didn't think you would make it. The doctors put you in an induced coma so your body could regenerate. You slept for three days. We took turns sitting by your bedside talking to you. But it was Molly who never left your room. She sat by your side non-stop, begging you to wake up."

`Three days? I've been asleep for three days? So my subconscious was just playing tricks on me and making me dream these horrible things. But it was all so real?" mused Sherlock in his mind.

"Um, Sherlock? What do you actually mean by mysterious messages and that Tom, was behind it?" John then asked, clearing his throat slightly.

Sherlock briefly thought about what to say, but then it occurred to him that he didn't understand it himself. John didn't know about the news. He concluded that it had happened only in his dream. It was clear to him that his subconscious was trying to tell him something with this dream. 

"So Sherlock, what do you mean by these messages?" asked John again.

"Huh? Oh it nothing. It was just a dream" Sherlock waved it off.

`A relatively strange and real dream' Sherlock still thought to himself.

"Aha, a dream. A dream in which you receive mysterious messages, Tom is a criminal and Molly has been killed" John repeated again with a skeptical look in his eyes.

Then he pulled up a chair.

"So, you want to tell me a little more about what this whole thing is about Molly and why you were so panicked earlier?"  
Sherlock sighed and tried to sit up a little straighter despite the pain.

"Like I said, it was just a dream. No need to elaborate" he replied, slightly annoyed.

"What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be in your....äh, honeymoon?" asked Sherlock with a confused and questioning look on his face.

John groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Like, what do you think I'm doing here? We called everything off as soon as we heard about the accident. Sherlock, we didn't think you'd survive it, and you're my best friend!"

"Hmm... You didn't have to do that. I'm okay, as you can see." he only replied, pointing at his body.

That was a lie. Of course, Sherlock had survived, and despite a few bruises, he had come out of it okay, but he was still not okay. His thoughts kept circling back to what he had experienced in his dream. About how he had lost Molly without telling her how he really felt about her. He could literally feel his heart breaking into pieces. He knew that this dream was trying to tell him something and he needed to talk to Molly as soon as possible. But to do that, he first had to get rid of his best friend. 

"Sherlock, you have several broken ribs, internal injuries and you almost bled to death! What makes you think I'm going on my honeymoon in spite of everything when you were fighting for your life?!" almost shouted John, straightening up from his chair.

"John, as you can see, I'm alive. I'm alive and well. No need to worry or cancel your honeymoon!" he said, keeping his voice in a monotone. He knew he was upsetting his friend by saying this.

John then looked at him aghast, threw his arms in the air in surrender and snorted.

"I don't believe it. I can't believe what you're saying!" he said more to himself than to Sherlock. Then he took his jacket from the chair and moved slowly toward the door.

"I'll come back when you stop acting like a complete ass!" he retorted with an annoyed roll of his eyes and stormed out the door.

Sherlock felt a slight pang of guilty conscience as he watched his friend storm off like that. But John knew what he was like and had often seen Sherlock be cold. But he could worry about that later. Right now, what mattered was a completely different person. And he knew he should do it right now, before worry and doubt met him.  
Carefully, he straightened up further in his bed and checked on his things. They were all neatly folded on a small dresser on the other side of the room. On top of them was his phone.   
Sherlock slowly pulled his covers off and moved one leg at a time out of bed. He was weakened and had difficulty holding himself upright. But it didn't matter. There was something more important than his health. He just had to get to his phone somehow.   
So with small steps he walked towards the dresser, but had to stop several times when he felt dizzy. With one hand he clung to the frame of the bed and slowly continued his way. He had to get to his phone by any means necessary. It was the only thing that would count.

"Oh my God Sherlock!" suddenly shouted a voice in panic from the other end of the room.

Sherlock paused, recognizing the voice immediately. A brief smile flitted across his face and his heart pounded. He heard approaching footsteps and then felt a slight pressure around his body. A sudden warmth surrounded him.

"What are you doing? You should be in bed?!" the voice said again, supporting his weakened body with its arms. Carefully but firmly, she steered him back to the bed. Sherlock did not resist.

"Molly, what are you doing here? John said he sent you home?" asked Sherlock, looking deep into her eyes. He recognized dark circles under her eyes. They looked tired and exhausted, but also sparkled with hope.

But Molly did not return his gaze. Slightly embarrassed, she turned her head to the side and looked at the floor.

"Molly?" he asked again after settling back into bed, slowly turning her face toward him with his hand on her chin.

"I...I..." she stuttered as her eyes met his. There was so much warmth, longing, and something else in his eyes that Molly couldn't really interpret. Was it love?

"I didn't go home. I was here in the building the whole time, hoping you would wake up."   
Tears formed in her eyes and sparkled.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. 

"Come here," he urged her, tapping a spot on the bed in front of him. Slightly confused, she looked first at his hand and then at his face. Then she carefully sat down at the edge of the bed. She expelled a deep breath.

"I can't believe it. You're alive, Sherlock! I thought I would never see you again. I'm so incredibly glad you're okay. You're okay, aren't you? I mean --" she babbled on, and was stopped when Sherlock suddenly leaned forward, put his hands on her cheeks, and pressed his lips to hers.

Molly was visibly surprised and stiffened a little but did not break the kiss. The kiss was gentle and restrained. Sherlock tasted the salt of her tears on his lips and slowly pulled away. With a questioning look, he looked at the person in front of him. Molly seemed to notice his astonishment.

"Tears of joy, Sherlock," was all she said and smiled.

Now he smiled again, too, and pulled her to him again. This time the kiss was anything but restrained. He kissed her intimately and with full passion. One hand moved to her neck while the other nestled around her waist, pulling Molly closer. Molly deepened the kiss by placing her hands around his neck and then slowly running her hands through his hair, pulling on it lightly. A pleasant feeling spread through Sherlock's body. The same tingling sensation he always felt when Molly was with him.  
After a moment, he pulled back slightly but only enough to look into her eyes.

"Molly," he breathed softly, stroking her cheek with one hand.

She looked up and smiled shyly. 

"I love you." 

There it was. Sherlock had said it and it felt right. He had thought it would be harder for him to say the words, but they slipped from his lips with ease. He would not and could not wait any longer. This dream had clearly moved him to take this step. When Molly said nothing back, he continued.

"I've probably always loved you, just been too stupid to realize it. I want to spend my life with you. I want to wake up with you in my arms every day and go to sleep with you every night. I want to call you mine and I am yours and I hope it's not too late. I love you, Molly Hooper."

Molly still said nothing. Wide-eyed, she looked at the man in front of her. There was shock and surprise on her face. Sherlock had told her he loved her. For so long she had hoped for this, but eventually the hope faded visibly. But now, at this moment, she heard the long-awaited words from his mouth. The love of her life loved her and wanted to be with her. There was so much warmth and love in his eyes. At the sight of him, she was left speechless. She just didn't know what to say. Inside she squealed with joy but outside she was numb. 

Sherlock was starting to get a little restless and moved slightly back and forth in the bed. 

"It's too late, isn't it?" he asked then, slightly exasperated, swallowing hard.

He avoided her gaze and looked down instead. His stomach tightened at her silence and he slowly prepared himself for the worst. Then all of a sudden he felt two gentle hands grasp his face. Molly gently put her hands to Sherlock's cheeks and turned him to face her. Then she closed the distance between them and put her lips on his again. She put all her feelings for Sherlock into that kiss. Then slowly she broke away from his lips and beamed at him.

"I love you too, Sherlock" 

  
End <3


End file.
